We Learned the Sea: Deleted Scenes
by luckei1
Summary: A series of missing scenes from the story We Learned the Sea
1. Adnexus

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. No money is being made from this hobby of mine.

**Note: **This is the first of the deleted scenes from We Learned the Sea. I would recommend, if you're interested, that you read the full story first, then read these scenes. And a special thank you to my beta, eilonwy!

Thanks to everyone for your patience! I hope to post a new scene every Friday – yay! Fun Friday!

_Requested by: Z, SiriuslyPadfoot'sGal, starlight15, Marionette, and ombeline_.

ooo

**Adnexus**

She still wore black every day and it was beginning to depress him. Granger was a colorful person, from what he'd seen, what he knew of her. He knew it had only been a month and a half since her parents had… _died_, and he also knew he had no experience with mourning. But surely wearing black all the time didn't _help _lift one's spirits when they were already quite low.

The night Draco didn't kill the Grangers, he'd already started plotting the ways by which he would protect her. First and foremost, he knew of a spell that would link them, and he planned to modify it so that only he would be aware of the link, and so that he would only be able to sense certain emotions that would help him carry out his task of protecting her.

It was called the Binding Spell, or the Adnexus Spell.

Casting the Spell was simple. Preparing to cast the spell required a lot of work. First, a potion had to be brewed that contained deoxyribonucleic acid, blood and saliva from both himself and Hermione. Which meant he had to obtain samples of each from the witch who would kill him on sight and not bother asking questions. Then, they _both_ had to drink some of the potion and within a certain time period, he had to cast the Spell on her.

Very quickly, Draco concocted a plan for successfully casting the Spell on Granger. He knew he needed to have access to her on a regular basis, until such time as all the potion components could be collected from her. He also knew he couldn't _be _himself.

The Grangers told Draco that Hermione frequented a coffee shop near the Ministry of Magic every morning, and that she was likely to continue this trend quite soon in an attempt to return to some kind of normalcy. With great reluctance, Draco assumed an alias of a Muggle and applied for a job at the coffee shop. He knew only the final goal of bringing down the most evil wizard of all time could prompt him to stoop so low.

His charm—and a bit of magic—secured him the position of barista. The title sounded grand, but when his job was described, it was essentially to take orders and make drinks. A common waiter and cook. Draco thought he hid his distaste very well.

Once he started, Draco began looking for opportunities to obtain the remaining potion ingredients. One had been easily obtained from her: the night he didn't kill her parents, he grabbed a few hairs from her hairbrush, which would provide the deoxyribonucleic acid.

The second he obtained after working for two weeks. Hermione always read the paper as she drank her coffee, and one morning, she got a nasty paper cut. Before he could really think, he'd rushed to her table and handed her a napkin. He told her to squeeze, to put pressure on the wound, to stop the bleeding. He really only wanted as much blood as possible on the napkin, but she looked at him long and hard and he was scared for just a moment that she had recognized him—though really, it was impossible.

He had nondescript brown hair, brown eyes, and average skin. He'd made himself appear completely average. Not at all memorable, which was important. He'd had to rearrange his facial structure slightly, but that was easily done. A potion much less complex than the Polyjuice was all he needed. The base potion was a little time consuming, but once it was done, certain ingredients could be added to produce certain effects. Eye of newt for brown hair, or lacewings cut long-ways for brown eyes, etc.

After staring at him, she'd burst out laughing, startling him. It was the first time he'd seen her laugh or even smile since he'd started watching her. He frowned.

"I've never seen someone react so outrageously to a paper cut," she'd said. "As though I were bleeding all over the table, or something."

He'd reddened. _He _knew he'd acted that way to be sure he got enough of her blood, but it didn't help that she was now laughing at him. _Still _laughing. As though it were the funniest thing she'd ever seen.

He muttered something and cleaned her place, careful to tuck the napkin in his pocket. Since that morning he was extra careful to avoid garnering her attention.

That night he'd boiled the napkin in a special solution designed for getting blood out of materials where it wasn't supposed to be. The napkin dissolved, leaving behind the solution. A few drops of ammonia and the solution dissipated, leaving behind a few drops of her blood. Bright red, just like his. Further proof, though he'd already _known_. Next he cut himself and poured both her blood and his together into the massive cauldron where he had the final potion brewing.

He still needed their saliva, mixed together. It was quite a horrible thought, but he'd come up with the perfect way to get it. Hence, he applied to the coffee shop and had been enduring women's perusals and hot beverages being spilled on him every other day. It was more attractive than the most obvious solution he'd come up with: kissing her. He shuddered at the very thought, not only of kissing her but of how much _work _and _effort _would be required to get her to willingly kiss him.

_It couldn't be much longer!_

Once he had all three crucial ingredients, he would brew a potion that he would then have to administer to her. Once she drank it, he had forty-seven minutes—who came up with this stuff anyway—to cast the spell that would bind them. If he failed…well, he'd have to start all over.

While it was true he worked in a coffee shop where Hermione happened to eat every morning, the collection of the specimen was more complicated than simply taking her cup after she'd finished it. Her saliva had to be mixed with two other ingredients: cardamom and a few drops of another potion he'd finished over a month ago.

He'd chosen the coffee shop because he had learned from Hermione's parents that she loved her morning tea. One morning, she was bound to order Indian Tea—Chai Tea—which had an adequate quantity of cardamom. And she had, long before he'd been ready for it, and not once since. Still, he was patient.

The door opened and he glanced at the clock. Sixteen minutes after seven on the dot; that would be Hermione. He went to the register to take her order.

She was wearing a sleek, black wrap dress and black heels, her hair put up in a loose mess, strands going every direction. As she stood biting her lip and perusing the menu, the light hit her just right, shining in her eyes and filling them. His breath caught.

"I'll have a Chai latte, please."

He shook his head and let her words sink in. His heart started pounding—_today_ would be the day. "As you wish," he said, punching her order into the keypad. _That _had been fun—trying his best not to look as though he'd never seen a computer before.

"And, could I get one of those cream-filled pastries?"

"Sure."

She smiled at him. "Thanks, Carl."

That had been the second time she'd smiled in two months. That he saw, anyway. She paid and went to her usual table. When her order was ready, Draco made sure to get it. One thing he'd noticed in watching Hermione at the shop: she didn't pay obvious much attention to what was happening around her. He knew she was probably discreetly watching the doors, the windows, the other customers—she was, after all, an Auror, having completed an accelerated education track offered by the Ministry during the War.

But she would not pay attention to what happened to her drink between ordering it and having it delivered to her table.

With his back to her, Draco removed the potion from his sleeve cuff where he kept it safely hidden but accessible. With his right hand, he moved the cup to his tray; with his left, he uncapped the bottle and nestled it in his fist. While he moved the plate with her pastry onto the tray, he quickly poured the potion into her teacup.

Then he picked up the tray, stuffed the bottle into a pocket, and made his way to her table. She didn't even look up when he stopped in front of her.

"Chai latte and cream pastry," he said, setting each in front of her.

Hermione looked up and cocked her head. "Oh. Thanks."

He raised his eyes, waiting for her to say more, but she looked back at her paper. With a casual glance, he saw the article she was reading: _Scrimgeour, Ministry Gives More Advice for Staying Safe_.

It quickly became apparent that she wasn't going to say anything else, but she hadn't moved to drink from her cup.

"Is there anything else I can get you, miss?" he asked politely, flashing a smile.

She looked at him again and considered his question. "No, I don't think so. Thank you, though."

"Of course. Please let me know if you need anything."

"Sure, Carl." Finally she picked up her cup and took a drink. Draco's eyes widened in anticipation. Hermione's face scrunched up and she set the cup down, sloshing a bit onto the table.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, concerned.

"I—what's _wrong _with the tea?" she asked. "It's _terrible_!"

Draco frowned. "Really?" He picked up the cup and sniffed. It smelled perfectly normal, which he had expected. "Do you mind if I try?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I'm not drinking anymore of that."

Bracing himself, he took a swallow. As it had when he'd practiced this scenario at home, it tasted horrible; a side effect of the potion. He made sure to backwash, just to be sure their saliva mixed.

"See?" she said.

"Yeah, I'm really, really sorry. I'll get you another one."

"Thank you."

Draco quickly left her table and went into the back room. He'd kept a small, empty water bottle in his locker for just this occasion, and he poured the remaining Chai tea into the bottle. He'd have to test it to be sure, but he was confident he had what he needed. He had to resist the urge to quit the job right at that moment.

But he still had to deliver the final potion, so he'd need to work for a few more days.

He made Hermione another Chai latte and took it out to her. "Try that," he said.

She took a hesitant sip, then smiled. "Much better, thank you."

"My pleasure," he said, smiling back. "Sorry about that, it's on the house."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. It was just an accident, I'm sure."

He chuckled at the irony. "We insist," he said. "We want you to continue your business with us."

Hermione shook her head. "No, no, of course I'll still come here. Don't be silly. This is my favorite coffee shop. One bad cup isn't going to deter me."

"Excellent," he said, picking up the tray he'd left on her table. "Well, enjoy."

"Thank you."

Draco waited until she was gone before heading home from his shift early, claiming a headache. He couldn't wait to see for sure if his stunt had worked.

He poured the contents of the water bottle into a small cauldron, then added a few prepared ingredients—cilantro, dung beetle eyes, pigeon feathers—then waited. In five minutes, the solution turned blue, indicated success. Draco gave a small cheer and added the saliva mixture to the large cauldron.

The potion hissed and sputtered, the boiling increased rapidly, and an awful smell filled the room. Draco was nearly sick, but he knew the smell was normal. Still, it didn't make it any better.

When the liquid turned a golden color, he knew it had been brewed correctly. Now it needed to simmer for a few days until it turned silver with green glops. Then he'd be ready to give it to Hermione.

ooo

"I'd like a cappuccino with extra foam, please, Carl," said Hermione a few days later. He nodded and entered the order. "And… how about a piece of that delicious-looking chocolate cake?"

"Whatever you wish," he responded. He didn't miss the gleam in her eyes, the bounce in her voice—or the red ribbon she wore in her hair. She still wore black, a sharp pencil skirt and silk blouse, but the red ribbon meant something, he knew.

Draco was thankful she'd ordered the extra foam—it would mask the color of the potion. Fortunately, this one only added a slightly sweet flavor, and she'd likely drink it all. Then would be the matter of casting the spell. He had a plan for that too. Usually she had some kind of jumper or wrap with her, to keep her warm in cool buildings. He'd charm it so that she forgot it, then return it to her once she'd left the shop.

He only hoped she wouldn't notice being hit with the spell. It wasn't supposed to _do _anything physical to her, but he hadn't been able to try it out. The spell, and the potions required to activate the spell, were tailored for them, and wouldn't work on anyone else.

This time, Draco made her drink himself, as the spell required at least four ounces of the potion be consumed, far more than the few drops he'd used of the last potion. And he added extra _extra _foam, just for good measure.

He delivered the drink to Hermione and flashed his most brilliant smile—for _Carl _anyway—and turned to head back to the bar.

"Carl. Have a seat, would you?" he heard her say.

His stomach flipped uncomfortably and he considered ignoring her completely. Only that wouldn't work because he'd stopped in his tracks when she'd spoken. Running off now would only look strange and possibly suspicious. But…what did she want?

Draco turned around, doing his best to exude innocence and business. "Sit?" he asked, coming to stand beside her table.

"Yeah," she said, pinking slightly and looking at her cake. "I—I mean, if you can," she blurted. "I mean, I know you're working. It's just—I'm not sure I can eat all of this on my own, is all, and I ordered it—I don't even _know _why, it just came to me—but now I don't really want it."

He stared at the side of her head. She…wanted him to eat cake. With her. "I…really shouldn't, Miss. As you said, I'm working."

"My name is Hermione," she said boldly.

And he realized…he _realized_…she…was hitting on him? Or at least, heading that way. She was hitting on a _Muggle_, or so she thought. The thought sent waves of practiced disgust through him, but he kept his smile straight.

"I'm, uh, Carl," he said awkwardly. "But you knew that already."

"Yes, thank you. Are you sure you won't join me?" she asked shyly.

"I—yes, I'm sure. Maybe…some other time."

Her eyes brightened and he instantly regretted what he'd said. He was about to say something more—he had a girlfriend; he was married; he had a terminal disease—when her face fell and tears welled in her eyes.

"I'm so stupid, I'm sorry."

He blinked. "What? Why?"

She shook her head. "It—it doesn't matter. Just…I'm sorry."

Draco had never seen Hermione emotional since her parents' death, not since the funeral. He figured she was handling it really well, _too _well, almost. In the span of ten minutes, she'd gone from happy and hopeful, to brave and flirty, to broken and sad. He realized he didn't want her to be broken, not really. But there was nothing he could do about it, and he wouldn't use his alias to try and help. He wouldn't lie to her.

He sat down across from her and picked up her fork. "I am not presently available," he said calmly, taking a bite of cake. "But I'm sure any bloke would be lucky to attract your attention."

Hermione looked at him through her tears. "You must think I'm a mess."

He shook his head and took another bite. "Not at all." He set the fork down. "It's really good cake. I hope you like it."

Then he stood and with a sincere smile, he left.

Hermione took longer than usual to finish her cake and cappuccino, and as the minutes ticked off the clock, Draco's anxiety rose. He had to cast the spell within thirty-seven minutes from the time Hermione took the first sip of the potion. Usually she was only in the shop for seventeen minutes, twenty at absolute most. Twenty-_four_ had now passed—she'd be late to work for sure.

Just when he'd decided to approach her, and somehow casually mention the time, Hermione stood and hastily gathered her things. The charm he'd put on her jumper worked, and she left it, tucked into the corner of her usual booth.

On her way out, Hermione sent him a small wave. Draco counted to thirty before darting around from behind the counter, snatching her jumper, and heading out the door.

She had turned left; Draco looked and saw her, the red ribbon standing out, almost to the end of the road where the coffee shop was located. He hurried after her, and caught up with her in the middle of the next road. She was moving quickly, and he reasoned she had noticed the time. He had to walk fast in order to catch her.

"Hermione!" he finally called when he was a few feet behind her. The name… _her _name, felt strange on his tongue, sounded foreign to his ears. It hit him that he had never said it aloud before.

She stopped and spun around, one hand on her bag—where she kept her wand, he realized—and a puzzled expression on her face. When she recognized him, she relaxed.

"Carl," she said simply, as though to reinforce that she wasn't in immediate danger.

"You left this," he said, holding the jumper out to her.

Hermione stared at the garment for a moment and Draco readied himself. He'd tucked _his _wand up his sleeve, positioned so that when he released the jumper, he could quickly cast the nonverbal incantation that would seal the spell.

But she only continued staring and to Draco's bewilderment and horror, Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

"My… my mother gave me that jumper," she said, still staring at it as though expecting something to happen.

Draco's insides clenched, but he made no visible reaction.

"She…" Hermione started. Then she smiled, her eyes full of tears but bright. "Thank you." She reached out to take the jumper and to Draco's immeasurable luck, a car honked its horn just at the moment he cast the spell.

Her hand still clutching the jumper, Hermione turned to look in the street, where two drivers were cursing at each other.

"Got it?" Draco asked.

"Oh, yes," Hermione replied, turning back and taking the jumper from him. "Thank you, again, so much. I would have been very sad to have lost this."

Draco nodded. "And cold."

Hermione blinked, then slowly smiled. Then her eyes widened. "Oh no! I'm late for work! I—thank you, Carl! Have a nice day!" She hurried away, searching, no doubt, for a deserted alley in which to Disapparate.

Slowly, Draco made his way back to the coffee shop. It was done; he'd brewed the potions correctly and cast the Binding Spell, and she'd had no idea at all.

The Slytherin in him swelled with pride that he'd pulled off a sneaky operation without a hitch. But there was a new part of him, still quite small, that felt uncomfortable at the idea of deceiving her. Though only very slightly. After all, it was for her own protection, and someday, he might be able to tell her the truth.

As much as Draco wanted to quit that very day, he didn't want Hermione to be suspicious, or have any reason to notice his absence. So he worked the rest of the week, then told Hermione he was starting at University for the summer session, and would be moving to the evening shift.

He worked one more week, hating every minute, and finally quit.

ooo

There remained only one thing to ensure the spell's success—he had to test it, first, to make sure the spell had worked, and second, to familiarize himself with the spell's effects. To accomplish it, Draco needed to witness a situation in which Hermione felt fear. Despite the hours he spent trying to come up with a solution, the first—and eventually the _only_—one he could think of was to be the one who scared her. To try and _cause_ her fear.

He dreaded doing it. He knew, quite well, that she could hex him and his mission would be put in jeopardy. So he waited; he put it off for a few days.

Finally, he could rationalize no longer, could invent no more lists of things to do, and made his plan. The next day was Friday, and Hermione would be going to the coffee shop as usual. He'd start there.

The morning dawned grey, and he wondered if it were on purpose. He'd prepared an alias for the day: an unattractive (Merlin help him!), middle-aged, nondescript man.

Draco went to his mirror and sighed. It would be a difficult, dreary day. His only hope was that his task would be accomplished quickly, that Granger would be afraid of him earlier in the day rather than later. He didn't expect it, though. From the little he'd learned of her in the two months since her parents' death, she didn't scare easily. The potion that was transform his appearance was sitting on his dresser and with another long sigh, he drank it.

He couldn't watch the transformation and went to his closet to put on a pair of Muggle jeans and a blue button-down shirt. Then he put on a hat he'd brought in the States displaying the logo of a popular baseball team and a pair of shoes.

His plan was simple. He would follow her everywhere she went that day. If she were on time, which was most days, then it would be no problem. She'd walk from the coffee shop to the Ministry. If she Apparated… it would be much more suspicious if she were to see him again that day.

Draco arrived at the coffee shop ten minutes before she did. He bought a Muggle paper, ordered a coffee, and sat down in the most out of the way table to wait. She arrived right on time and he spent the eighteen minutes she was there occasionally staring at her from behind or around the paper. He wasn't sure if she noticed, so when she got up to leave, he dropped his coffee cup. Everyone in the shop looked at him, and he hurriedly tossed a few coins on the table and left.

Hermione exited after a few moments and walked leisurely down the pavement. He followed her until she stopped at the entrance to an alley. All he needed was for her to _see _him, and just before she darted into the alley, she glanced around her. Their eyes met briefly, but whether or not she recognized him, he couldn't tell. She disappeared into the alley and he knew she'd Disapparated.

After work, she usually home, but as today was Friday, Draco knew Hermione would stop in Diagon Alley to see the twins in their shop, stop in the bookstore, or whatever she liked to do. So he waited outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Right on time, she arrived with Weasley, and they both went into the shop. Draco didn't go in, but he sat outside at a café across the street, watching the entrance to the joke shop. After what felt like an hour, Hermione finally emerged, laughing, carrying a small bag with the Weasley's logo on it. She held the door open for Ron and a gust of chilly wind swept through the alley. Her smile faltered and she looked across the alley, toward him. Draco continued staring at her. After all, he _wanted _her to see him.

She did. When their eyes met, he felt a shiver of something quite foreign run through him, like hot liquid running through his veins.

He held her gaze for a few seconds until Weasley distracted her. Then he very quickly Disillusioned himself, and just as he suspected, both Hermione and Weasley looked in his direction a moment later. The intense sensation dissipated, but he still felt lingering effects for the next twenty minutes while she and Weasley were in the bookshop. By the time they left, he felt nothing.

Draco waited outside again, and when Hermione and Ron emerged, he began following them down the sidewalk. At first, there was nothing, but Hermione must have sensed his presence. She glanced behind her and he pretended to be looking at a window display. Two more times it happened, and on the last, he looked at her. The same feeling hit him full force, ten times more intensely than the first time. Draco staggered under the sudden explosion of fire running through his blood. It wasn't _painful_, exactly, just very, very uncomfortable.

He stopped following them, certain now that the spell had worked, though he watched Hermione until she was out of sight. The stirrings of fear stayed with him the rest of the day, finally fading when, he assumed, she went to sleep.

Draco hoped he would never have to feel those sensations ever again, but he didn't think it possible. To his surprise, however, over the next year, there were only a handful of times where the hot liquid ran through his veins. Not once did he feel the incredibly intense fire burning his very cells.

He wouldn't experience that again until the night in January when his father attacked her. He woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, and feeling very much as though he were experiencing the Cruciatus. It was a very similar sensation, just without the _pain_. But he still felt he would boil out of his skin.

Later that day, after he and Harry had successfully rescued Hermione and he'd dealt with his father, the residual feelings of fear disappeared instantly when, after hearing that he hadn't killed Lucius, Hermione hugged him tightly.

He wondered later that night if maybe, just maybe, some of the fear she had felt had been for him.

ooo

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! See you next week!


	2. War In Me

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter, no money is being made from this hobby. 

**Note: **Song lyrics at the beginning from the song "It's a War in There" by Dar Williams. Many thanks to my beta, Eilonwy:D

_**Requested by: **__Weaselbee, jamy21, NelStar7_

**ooo **

**War In Me**

_If you want to make peace, well you gotta find the pain,  
And you bring your words, but you're just like them,  
you're unprepared,  
Cause you don't know the terrain._

**ooo**

Draco stood on the beach, just out of reach of the water, trying to calm his nerves. He tried to focus on the sound of the waves steadily rolling over the fine, white sand beneath his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut and took very measured breaths. For a few minutes, the constant rhythm soothed him and he felt his stomach slow its churning.

Then a bird chirped, interrupting the quiet, and other sounds started punching through the ocean sounds. Voices… images… began bombarding his mind, flashes of black and green and red… _screams_…

The momentary calm Draco had achieved was broken and he snapped his eyes open and rushed into the water waist deep until he could hold it in no more. He threw up until he had nothing left in him, and then bent double, resting his hands on his knees. The salty water pulsed over his head with the incoming waves and he barely noticed it.

"Draco! Draco!"

He heard a voice that sounded as if it came from the other end of a long tunnel. Once more the waves crashed over and around him. If only he could be so smooth, if only things didn't matter like they did.

"Draco!"

Slowly, he turned toward the source of the voice and saw Jane standing on the beach, on her tiptoes, arms crossed, and brow furrowed in concern. He stood to his full height and looked at the woman.

She motioned for him to join her, but he couldn't trust himself to move yet. He took a few steadying breaths and waited until his stomach wasn't whirling and churning and somersaulting. And just as he was about to make his way to the shore, Jane started waving her arms, pointing. Draco turned to look behind him, but a large wave hit his back and he went under.

He opened his eyes and saw the sediment rolling around him. It was quiet, absolutely silent, and it helped to calm him even more. Finally he set his feet on the ocean floor and stood up.

Jane was pacing and when she saw him, she stopped and called to him to come in. Draco nodded and started toward her.

"Are you okay?" Jane asked as soon as Draco stepped out of the water. He frowned; she seemed worried… over _him_!

"Fine," he mumbled, looking away from her.

"Don't 'fine' me, you were just quite sick in the ocean! Repeatedly!"

"It's nothing," he grunted, making to walk toward the tent where Steve and Jane lived, the beginnings of a framed house behind it. "Ate something bad, probably."

Jane grabbed his arm and held it firmly when he tried instinctively to pull out of her grasp.

"Let me go," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"You are paler than I've ever seen you—you're green-tinged, Draco. It's not just food. And I'm not letting you go until you tell me what's wrong."

He scowled. "You're not my—" he stopped himself before he said 'mother.' No, this woman was certainly _not _his mother. _She _would have looked the other way and reminded him not to get the carpets wet when he went inside.

Jane stood there, waiting, eyes blazing—so much like Hermione's when she was fired up.

"I… I don't talk, Jane."

"Nonsense. Everybody talks."

"_I _don't."

She smiled at him as though she knew something he didn't. "Maybe you've never really talked, Draco, but I'm sure you've got something to say. Let yourself say it. I'm your friend and I'm here for you."

He shook his head in disbelief. Jane and Steve never ceased to amaze him. Ever since he'd brought them to the island, they'd gone out of their way to make him feel comfortable, relaxed… at home. He'd fought hard against it at first, but Jane refused to let him win. It was as though she had a secret sixth sense and she could detect just what he needed, even when he hated to admit it, even when he didn't even have a clue what he needed himself.

And she always had a smile for him, even when he snapped at her, even when he just went to his room to brood.

Now, after only three months, Draco realized he would never win that battle against her, that really, it had been lost before it even began. More than anything, he longed for someone to call a friend, someone to accept him… to love him for exactly who he was, because he wasn't capable of doing it on his own.

"Draco, you can't hold everything in. It's been three months, and… I reckon you're about to burst."

He looked at her briefly, then returned to staring at the ocean. The steady, rhythmic undulations of the waves he once again found calming. He swallowed hard and tasted the acrid leftovers from his venture into the water. He made a face.

"I'd like a drink," he said.

Jane nodded. "Then we'll talk, right?"

Draco shrugged and together they walked to the tent.

On the outside, it looked like a normal, two-person tent. Jane had blanched when Draco first showed it to her and Steve, and told them the tent would be their home until they could build a house. It would be the first of many communications glitches that would rise between Draco and the Grangers, due to the fact of their very different backgrounds.

When Draco had explained about wizarding tents, and then finally when they _saw _the inside, Jane relaxed. The tent had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, kitchen and small eating area.

When they neared the tent, Draco looked behind it, where the foundation and framing for a house sat. Whenever he could get away, he would go to the island and work with Steve and Jane on the house. He'd bought a book about building with magic, and the house was relatively easy—if time-intensive—to build. A few more weeks, and it should be done, if all went according to schedule.

"You first," said Jane, opening the tent flap.

Draco sighed and walked into the tent and headed for the kitchen.

"Sit," said Jane when she arrived behind him.

Draco was just about to get a glass out of the cabinet. He looked at her, puzzled.

"You've been sick. I'll fix you some juice. _Sit_," said Jane in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

Draco sat.

"Here," said Jane, handing him a glass of orange juice.

Draco took a few small sips to help wash away the horrid taste in his mouth, then took a large gulp. Jane was watching him expectantly.

Draco frowned. He _didn't _talk. He didn't _need _to. He could handle things fine on his own, had been doing it for years. An image flashed unbidden into his mind and he had to quickly drink the remaining juice to avoid being sick all over again.

Maybe… maybe he _could _tell her… _enough_. Not everything—Merlin, no! Just the surface might be enough to relieve the gnawing in his gut that was his constant companion.

"Take your time," said Jane kindly.

Draco took a steady breath. "It—it's just… there are… _things_… that I see, and… _do_… that, for some reason, bother me. And they didn't before."

Jane nodded, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't for a long moment.

Then he shuddered and whispered, "Awful things."

"If you need to talk about them, it's okay," said Jane quietly.

Draco looked at her, eyes wide. "I—I can't! No! You… you'd hate me!"

"Draco, I know you do bad things as a Death Eater. Not only did Hermione talk about her job, in some detail at times, but you were sent to _kill_ us."

Again, Draco shivered and shut his eyes tight, forcing himself to take steady breaths. "There are worse things than killing a person."

Jane reached over and squeezed his hand. "These… awful things are things you must do, in order to continue with your plan."

"Would you still say that if you knew?" Draco asked angrily, yanking his hand out of Jane's and pushing his chair away from the table. He grabbed his head with both hands and fisted his hair until it hurt.

"Draco—"

"I mean… I—I've _seen _things you can't even imagine. I've helped, I've _done _it… you don't say no to him, you can't!"

"Draco," said Jane so sternly that he looked up at her in surprise. "Do you think I have lived my entire life in a sheltered bubble? Do you think I don't know what people are capable of? Muggles have _guns_ and _knives_ and _bombs_. Every day someone does something evil to a fellow human being. I don't need to hear specifics unless you want to share them, but I _can _imagine what you've been exposed to. I am not naïve.

"And you must not forget that the very fact that you _are _bothered by these things is the reason you are doing what you're doing! You have something inside you that screams at you, that tells you 'this isn't right!' Do you think your master has such a voice?"

"No, but… I've only heard the one in my head since I met you and Steve."

"You only _listened _to it that night; it was always there. When you stood outside our door, the voice was screaming at you and you finally heeded its call. Draco," Jane said, leaning across the table and looking him in the eye. "If you are bothered now, you have always been bothered. You'd just learned to ignore it, to push those thoughts away. Now that you're _doing _something about it, trying to make a difference in the world and _listening _to that voice, it makes perfect sense that you would be affected more than ever before."

Draco looked away. Part of him knew she was right, but he couldn't get the other part of him to accept it.

"It… it's like I'm constantly at war with myself. The side I want to win can't, because I don't believe it can. I can't ever be _good_, as much as I wish it were so."

"That's not true!" Jane cried. "You can be _anything_ you want to be, Draco, if you truly want it hard enough."

Draco's shoulders slumped. "How long, Jane? How long until I don't feel like _this _anymore?"

She smiled sadly and then got up from her chair and came around the table to stand beside his chair. "I don't know, Draco. Stand up."

He looked up at her skeptically.

"Please?" she asked.

With a sigh, he complied.

"I wanted to look you in the eye when I say this. What makes a man good is his desire to _be_ good and his efforts toward that end. I don't know how long it will take you to _feel _good, but you've already begun _being _good."

Draco felt his throat tighten but refused to let the water pooled in his eyes fall. "You—you really believe that, don't you?" he asked in a whisper.

Jane nodded and her own eyes filled with tears. "Yes. I do."

Draco stared at her, wanting desperately to believe her. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, she pulled him into a hug. He stood awkwardly in her arms as she cried—_cried! For him!—_and felt, as her tears fell, that some of his own pain and guilt were being washed away.

He'd never really been hugged like that in his life. Neither of his parents showed him any kind of genuine affection, much less were at all demonstrative. Pansy had hugged him… or more accurately, hung on him. There was certainly a difference between that and what Jane was doing. He felt as though he truly mattered to Jane, as though his life were important to her. It felt… _good_.

After a few moments of consideration, Draco slowly, hesitantly, and awkwardly returned the hug; he was amazed at how easy it was. Jane only squeezed him harder.

Finally, she pulled away, her eyes still brimming with tears, but with a smile on her face. "So," she said, taking her seat once again. "How are your plans coming?"

Draco sat down as well. "Well. I've purchased a tract of land."

"Really? Where is it?"

"In Wales, in an area that was under government protection. I had to sign all kinds of papers saying I wouldn't build certain things, or develop too much of the land. I assured them I only wanted to build a small house."

"I see. When will you start?"

"Soon, I reckon. I'm looking forward to having a place where I can go to get away from things. And I won't have to worry about hiding all my plans." Draco sighed. "And… it will be nice not living with my parents anymore."

Jane nodded. "It hurts me to know that you aren't close to your parents."

Draco scowled. "Don't bother." The scowl turned to a frown as he thought about what she'd said. "If I _had _been closer to them, who knows—things might have turned out much differently…"

**ooo**

**A/N**: I know, this one was short - really short - but I just went where the scene went and stopped when it stopped. There might be another Grangers scene coming up a bit later. Thank you for reading! See you next week!


	3. Bermuda Triangle

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Not making any money, just having fun.

**Note**: The title of this story was taken from a line from the movie "Sleepless in Seattle." Which I thought was appropriate. :) SUPER thanks to my beta, Eilonwy! You're incredible!

**General Reminder**: These are deleted scenes from the story "We Learned the Sea." If you haven't read it, these won't make any sense. You can find that story under my profile page. Also, these scenes weren't actually deleted from the story; they're more like _extra_ scenes. Enjoy!

_Requested by: NotreDamegirlie, meganann07, DarcyJames, luci92, ChewedGum, SiriuslyPadfoot'sGal, TShinoda, delyn, Witchbeth, Angeepang, blue artemis, and I know there were more, but forgive my record keeping!_

**Time Frame**: Begins six months after the night Draco doesn't kill Hermione's parents and goes up to the first week after Harry and Hermione move to the Edge.

**ooo**

**The Bermuda Triangle**

Draco slammed the front door shut to hard he heard the windows rattle and the dishes in the sink clink together. He took a few deep breaths, eyes shut tight, to calm his raw nerves and relax his pounding heart.

After a few moments, Draco started to relax, but soon images flashed in his mind. His eyes flew open and in three long strides he'd reached the kitchen. He went straight to the sink and started scrubbing furiously.

He liked washing dishes. He'd been living in his own house for about a month, and had struggled at first with the daily chores that needed doing. It wasn't a matter of _knowing_, but of making himself. His whole life, he'd always had someone to do things for him; he hadn't even _known _there was any other way, really. He'd never washed clothes for himself, he'd never cooked; he'd certainly never cleaned.

But he was determined to do everything on his own so he'd made up a chore chart—Jane's idea—of what chores needed doing when. He'd already read a number of books on the subjects of housework, and he didn't even mind that he had. He reckoned it had been seeing Steve helping Jane with basic work—and her appreciation of his efforts—that showed him it was okay for a man to do housework. But woe unto him if his father ever caught wind of it.

He followed his chore chart to the letter now, though he still left the dishes to pile up for just such times as this one—when he returned from a particularly heinous Death Eater meeting.

The strangest thing happened soon after Draco left the Grangers alive: his conscience, which he had thought long dead, buried, and rotting, came back to life with a vengeance. Things that hadn't bothered him in years now made him physically sick.

And he saw—he _did_—more than ever before in the month that had followed his promotion, putting him closer to the Dark Lord. The things he saw were burned into his memory, the things he did burned into his heart. He _hated _what he was doing and expected to crash at any moment, giving himself away.

But despite how horrible he felt about what he did, he still didn't feel as lost as he had that night. He still felt all the same flickers of hope—now a slowly building fire—and still felt he was doing something worthwhile. Almost…_good, _even.

Draco refused to let himself think that way though. He was doing the _right _thing, but in a whole bunch of bad ways. And that did not equal "good."

Draco focused on the dishes. He felt as though in some way, as he scrubbed the bits of dried food, as he made every piece clean and sparkling like new, that somehow he was making himself cleaner too. He could never erase what he was doing, but he would spend his life trying to make it right.

When he finished, he looked at his reflection in the window. Six months had been good to him. He'd been eating more, training non-stop. But still… _his eyes._

His eyes lied about him. They were full of death and destruction and despair. Draco betrayed his eyes whenever he made them stay open while a fellow Death Eater tortured a Muggle—or worse, _killed_. If he shut them, he was as good as dead. The other Death Eaters would see his weakness.

Draco thought of Jane. The last time he'd been to visit was right after he'd been required to torture someone, laughing in apparent delight, as others watched. He'd stopped just before the girl died, offering to let someone else "have the fun." Jane fixed him glass after glass of orange juice.

He always wound up on the island whenever he thought he might spin out of control. Jane would always hold him and cry for him if it had been a really bad day. Draco hadn't shed a tear—he couldn't if he'd wanted to. But he still felt some of the shame and guilt melt away and Jane cried and maybe she'd known it would happen that way. Draco didn't tell them what he'd done—he didn't need to. They forgave—they cared about him anyway. He didn't understand it, but he took whatever good he could. He _needed _it.

Draco dried his hands in frustration. There hadn't been _enough _dishes. He put the clean plates, cups, and silverware away and sulked up the stairs.

When he reached his guest rooms, he stopped and peeked into what would be, if all went according to plan, _her _room. It was empty, save a basin of water on a stand in the corner; He'd worry about furnishing it later. There was a single window that opened to face the sea. He went into the room and tried to imagine her there; he couldn't. All he could think was that when she got there, she'd fill the house with her hatred and anger.

He felt suddenly bone weary and sank to his knees in the middle of the room. Waves of fresh guilt coursed through him and he clenched his fists so tightly that he drew blood.

Draco thought about Hermione. He had been watching over her successfully for nearly six months and he couldn't help but develop a grudging respect for her. He'd expected her to just… fall apart. He'd waited, when he first started watching her after her parents' death, for her to crumble, to stop functioning. But she hadn't. It was better that way for him, of course; she kept to her usual routine, and he had an easy time of watching her.

But she'd never broken. And… well, _he _was mostly broken. He found it amazing that even though her parents had been killed, she'd moved. On. She'd kept moving, kept going; she didn't stop and let it consume her or drag her down. Whereas _he _had to fight every day to keep from drowning, and he _had _his parents. Not that _that _was any great consolation…

And so he admired her for her strength. Gryffindor had been the right house for her, no doubt.

The clouds parted and through the window came a startling ray of moonlight. It danced on the surface of the water in the basin and he stared at it. He slowly stood and went to the basin.

"_Manifesto fenestra,_" he muttered.

The water shimmered, and in a few seconds he could see, plain as day, in Hermione's flat. He was always very careful when he did this, so as not to take advantage of the Grangers' trust. Because that was truly all he had, and if he blew _that…_ he had nothing. Always the image opened on her kitchen. From there, he slowly moved the image until he found her, usually on the sofa with a book or at her desk. Tonight he found her on the sofa watching the television.

Only she had ice cream out, which meant she'd had a bad day. As he watched, she picked up a small box and put on a film. He'd become familiar with Muggle devices through her parents, and knew that the shiny, circular disc would translate moving, colorful images with sound that would tell a story. A movie.

He'd had an entire weekend lesson with the Grangers about electronics and the like, though he hadn't been able to really _see _any of the devices in action, as there was no electricity on the island. He'd learned about other Muggle things too – mobile phones, computers, the internet… not that he was the least bit interested in any of it, but they seemed to think it would be good for him to learn it.

He'd seen this same box before. On many previous occasions, when she'd had bad days, she would come home, get the tub of ice cream—honestly, he had no idea she ate so much ice cream—and put on this very film. He'd never bothered to think too much about it.

Tonight he was in a strange place after the day he'd had and the inadequate number of dishes he'd scrubbed. He zoomed in on the box and saw that it read "Sleepless in Seattle," and had a picture of a man and a woman on the front, gazing as though at the stars. He had no idea where Seattle was, and made a mental note to ask Jane about it.

He returned the image to normal and was about to deactivate the spell that allowed him to see Hermione when something inexplicable made him pause. Usually, at this point in the routine, he'd cut out and find something else to do, but tonight, he noticed she grabbed a box of tissues and hugged it close to her, as though for comfort.

It was odd, he thought, to cling to a box of tissues so tightly. And he was in that strange place, and so he wanted to know what purpose the tissues would serve. He pulled the basin carefully off its stand and set it on the floor, then sat for an hour and forty-five minutes while he watched Hermione watch the film.

She cried a few times—hence the tissues, though they had quickly been forgotten after the film started. He didn't understand the idea of crying at a movie, but then, what did he know about movies?

One thing he realized though, in watching her cry, was that he didn't like it. Sure, he'd seen her cry before—he'd _made _her cry even. But… after watching over her for the last six months, watching her be so strong and sure and steady, to see her go to tears over something that wasn't even real puzzled him.

It struck him, as he watched her, that she suddenly seemed human. She'd always been placed on a kind of pedestal in his mind, both by his father and by everyone at school. His father, though most unwittingly, put her on a pedestal as the perfect example of what was wrong with the wizarding world, and most especially, of the tolerance of dirty blood. Whenever he'd get onto one of his rants, inevitably, he mentioned _her_. It was always with the purpose of degrading her and putting her down, but it was a pedestal nonetheless.

In school, she was very quickly labeled "the smartest witch in their year," and by the time he left, he doubted anyone in recent memory was as bright as she was.

Yet there she was, snotty, runny nose, red, puffy eyes, crying on her sofa with her cat and a soft blanket. And still, she was the picture of strength to him, despite this foray into humanity. He knew his heart was softening toward her, but he wasn't sure if he was upset about it.

It would be a good thing for him to really, honestly _care _about her, as he was charged with watching over her. He rationalized that it would only help him in his task if he really and truly cared about her well being beyond simply doing it for her parents. The task would be easier, more bearable. If only he could have known the danger he was putting himself in, he might have shut off the window the moment she pulled out the little box with the foreign city on it.

But he didn't, so he watched her all the way through the end as she ate her usual favorite ice cream. When the movie ended, he looked into the bowl and saw what looked like just a few bites left, completely melted. He frowned; why hadn't she finished? Perhaps, he reasoned, she'd been so caught up in the movie that she'd forgotten it completely.

There were tissues piled all around her—how could _any _movie make a person cry that much? He wondered if it had anything to do with her parents, if maybe _this _was how she let herself go, if _this _was when she let herself not be so strong. If she could watch this movie, and cry at it, and that was in some way still mourning her parents.

He didn't know, as there was no sound through the window, wanting to pry as little as possible. After the movie, Hermione lay down on the sofa, pulled the blanket over her and went to sleep. Right there, on the sofa. He wondered briefly if she'd think to set her alarm so she'd get to work on time, but then he realized it was Friday. She probably knew that; there was no work on Saturday for her. At least, not most Saturdays.

She'd fallen asleep almost as her head hit the pillow. Either that, or she was very, very still when she slept. There had been no transition from watching the film to going to sleep, and so he found himself still watching her. Her hair—her insane, billowing hair—was everywhere all over the pillow. And she was still in her slippers, tissues scattered over the blanket and the floor.

Something hit him then, something that set in motion a movement inside of him that wouldn't be complete until she finished it—he no longer thought she was ugly.

He thought she was _pretty_.

It hit him like a ton of bricks when he realized what he'd thought. But as he stared at her, it just grew. And it wasn't just what she _looked _like; she was a really beautiful _person_. It made him think about her parents and everything they'd done for him, and he figured she must have gotten that inner beauty from them. He wondered why he'd never seen it before.

He scoffed; it had been everything in his life, all the prejudice he'd been infused with his whole life. Before now, before her parents, he couldn't have seen the good in her if he'd tried. But now… it was _screaming _at him.

He was really shaken.

During the movie, he hadn't really been able to see her face, but now that she was sleeping, he could. As she lay there, falling asleep, he could see that she was troubled. That not all was well in her world. But when she fell asleep, that passed. He stared for hours, at first watching her, but then letting his mind wander. Only it didn't wander over what he'd seen that night, he didn't think about the bad things he'd done.

Oddly enough, it went to a memory he'd forgotten from when he was a small boy. He didn't have a lot of warm memories of his parents from growing up, but there was one of his mother.

She'd got it in her head one day to make biscuits. Now, Narcissa didn't even know where the kitchen _was_ because they always had a house-elf. So she had to ask the house-elf to take her to the kitchen. She had just wanted Dobby to take her to the kitchen, to show her how to make biscuits. It was the nicest she'd ever been to the elf.

Draco went looking for his mother at the same time she was in the kitchen trying to figure out flour and sugar and eggs. He called for Dobby.

"Where's my mother?"

"The kitchen, young Master."

Draco scrunched up his nose. "Why?"

"Mistress wished to know where the kitchen was, so Dobby took her there, Sir."

"Well, I need to see her, so take me to the kitchen."

Dobby did as he was instructed and led Draco into the bowels of the Manor. When they reached the kitchen, there was Narcissa, the only person in the room, laughing, up to her elbows in dough and flour absolutely everywhere, including her hair and her robe.

"Mother!" Draco called. "What are you _doing_?"

She looked up at him, a rare smile on her face. "I'm trying to make biscuits, son."

"Why on _earth _would you _do _such a thing?"

"I heard someone say it was fun. I wanted to give it a try."

"That's what the _elf _is for, Mother. To make biscuits."

"I know that, I just wanted to try it for myself." She stopped struggling with the contents of a very large bowl for a moment and looked at him. "Would you like to help me?"

Draco looked at her as though he'd never seen her before, but she was smiling in a way he'd never seen before in his entire life. Something told him maybe this was something he should stick around for.

"Well… okay. What do you want me to do?"

The two of them tried for the next three hours to make a batch of biscuits. They weren't successful, except in making the biggest mess that had ever been made on Malfoy properties.

Narcissa called Dobby and asked him what they were doing wrong. Together, the _three _of them made a batch of chocolate biscuits. It was the best memory Draco had of his mother, by far. He'd been thirteen; it had been before the return of the Dark Lord. He hadn't seen his mother smile that way since. He'd barely seen her smile at all.

He thought about the biscuit-making experience while watching Hermione sleep, and then his thoughts traveled over other good memories—Quidditch, flying, successfully brewing a potion correctly. Nothing bad, and it meant something; he couldn't help but think it might be coincidence..

Eventually something in the window caught his attention; the cat had moved. With an odd combination of longing, of a strange companionship, of understanding, and even disappointment, Draco set the basin back on its holder and closed the window into Hermione's flat. He shut the door, feeling almost as though he was shutting off a piece of goodness, and went to his own room.

As he lay in bed that night, unable to sleep for all the thoughts speeding through his mind, he kept thinking about the fact that he found himself attracted to Hermione. When he'd seen her before, she'd been nice to him. She'd talked to him—of course, it hadn't been _him—_but he supposed it was just that she was who she was, a good, kind person, and that everything his father had ever told him about her, or her _kind_, or her _type_, wasn't true, because she was so universally good and kind. She'd only ever been mean to him when he had been mean first.

Coupled with seeing her in what he figured she would say was one of her _least _attractive moments, crying at a movie, he thought she was _pretty_.

Draco let himself think about it until he went to sleep. He decided that it wasn't such a big thing, really. She was a pretty girl, and he was simply acknowledging it to be true.

He didn't think too much about it until the next morning when he was eating breakfast at his table and it really hit him: _he was attracted to Hermione_. Everything changed at that moment. He didn't want to be. He wanted to _care _about her, but he didn't want to _like _her. Didn't want to be attached to her, any more than he had to be.

He panicked; what if it never went away? What if it was a thing? What if?

Draco decided he wouldn't think about being attracted to her. He compartmentalized the knowledge, put it aside, out of reach. He didn't try to deny it, or get himself to _stop _being attracted; that was the fastest way to get it to grow. But he ignored it. Put it aside, to deal with later. It wasn't on his agenda, and he would think about it _later_. Certainly, in all of his planning, this… thing that had crept up on him had not been a factor. It hadn't been a thought. It hadn't been a shadow of a whisper of a thought. Never in his wildest _dreams_ would he have foreseen finding Hermione Granger attractive.

Thinking of her that way was unacceptable. So he stopped.

**ooo**

It worked for a few months, refusing to let himself think about her beyond what was required to accomplish his task of watching over her. He accepted his attraction and moved on. He didn't think about it, and he didn't think about her.

Then, in the middle of November, he was in the Apothecary in Diagon Alley, buying a few ingredients for a potion. He had disguised himself so as to be completely forgettable.

He gathered a few ingredients in his arms and headed toward the counter, his head down and his thoughts on about the next item on his list. When he reached the end of the aisle, he collided with something quite solid.

Everything in his arms spilled out, a few bottles breaking on the floor and one of the vials splashing on his shirt. He stared at the ruined ingredients on the floor, then looked to see what he'd hit.

It was Hermione, and she was likewise wearing an ingredient or two. He stared at her, dumbstruck, for a moment.

"I—I'm terribly sorry," she said, bending over to clean up what had spilled on the floor, while he just stood there gawking like an idiot. He just couldn't believe he'd run into her. _Literally_. She was supposed to be at _work._

After the initial shock passed, he bent to help her clean up the mess, both of them picking up loose feathers and rounding up the glass shards with their wands.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I was caught up in…in what I was doing, and I wasn't looking where I was going… and I'm so sorry."

"It's… okay, really. The fault lies with me as well. I wasn't paying attention either."

Hermione looked at him and smiled shyly. His stomach flipped over uncomfortably and it hit him again that she was really, really pretty. It also struck him that she looked worn out and…thinner than he remembered.

"What were you buying?" she asked.

"Oh, er, cherry powder, arrowroot and dragon scales."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Those are interesting ingredients."

Draco shifted his weight, feeling ridiculously awkward. "Yeah, well, interesting potion."

"Must be. Dragon scales are really hard to get, and quite expensive. And I ruined them—you must know they can't be exposed to air for too long or they lose their potency."

He made a face. "Oh, that's not a big deal, don't worry about it. Don't feel bad."

"No, please. Let me pay for them."

His eyes widened. "No! I mean, it was just as much my fault—I should be buying _your _ingredients."

"Oh, no. Mine were just a few Galleons. Yours were very expensive, and I know how tight money is for everybody right now."

"I absolutely refuse to let you buy my ingredients," Draco said.

"Well… okay, then how about coffee?"

He looked at her, wide-eyes, for a brief moment. Was she crazy? Did she know who she was talking to? Well, no, she didn't. If she did, she wouldn't be asking him to coffee.

She looked at him expectantly, and he realized he'd been staring again. "If you don't want to, that's okay," she said. "I've never asked anyone I just met to coffee before."

"Oh, I, um…"

"But it's coffee or the dragon scales, so…" she said, looking at him shyly.

It hit him suddenly: she was _flirting_ with him!

"Coffee or dragon scales, huh?"

"Yup. I'm afraid that's the way it has to be."

"Coffee then, because I definitely can't allow you to pay for the scales."

They went through the shop together, collecting new bottles of the ingredients they'd ruined, and went to pay, all the while making small talk and flirting harmlessly. He stared at her as much as he could discreetly, trying to figure out what it was about her that he now seemed so drawn to.

After they paid—and he insisted on paying for both bottles of dragon scales, to Hermione's astonishment—they made their way through Diagon Alley to the only cafe still open.

Draco had a _really _good time. They were there for nearly an hour. Hermione seemed very comfortable interacting with a relative stranger, and she made for delightful conversation. But despite the fact that he had been watching her for nine months, he hadn't been interacting with her. So he was surprised to find that he could sense a sadness in her. A darkness, even, hidden behind her eyes. It puzzled him.

She appeared to be quite happy and carefree, but every now and then a shadow seemed to pass through her features. Her hands would tense, her knuckles turn white as she gripped what was in her hand—a napkin, her fork.

When they'd both finished their coffee, and eaten as many sweets as they could justify, Hermione said, "You know, coffee doesn't _actually _equal a bottle of dragon scales. How about… dinner?"

He looked at her, and he could tell that she was incredibly nervous and very much outside her comfort zone. "I…shouldn't," he said, wishing that somehow things were different and there weren't really a million reasons why he couldn't have dinner with her.

"Oh, okay, yeah. Um, sure. Right."

He hated the look on her face at that moment and he really wanted to have dinner with her, but he couldn't lie to her. He knew there might come a day when he'd tell her about that moment, when she'd flirted with him after ruining a bottle of dragon scales in the Apothecary, and that they'd had coffee. He refused to make it worse.

They said goodbye and as he walked away, he wondered how she would react that night, how their interaction might affect her. He finished his errands and returned to the Edge, going straight to her room and turning on the window.

She was with Harry and Ron having a wonderful time in some kind of Muggle club. When he looked very closely, he saw that, indeed, she looked very thin. She was dancing very enthusiastically, but after watching her for a few minutes, he saw that she seemed to be in another place altogether. As though she were trying very hard to drown out every thing around her.

_Hmm_. Maybe it hadn't meant anything, maybe she really did talk to blokes in shops on a regular basis and buy them coffee. For her, he'd just been some random guy, but for him…

Part of her had liked part of him that day. Maybe it was because he'd been himself, at least the parts of himself he could reveal without raising her suspicion. He'd had a good day, and then felt awful.

He wrote to Jane, told her what had happened, but not that she looked almost sickly. He told her that they'd had coffee, and Hermione had asked him to dinner. Draco felt he had to be extremely upfront and honest about whatever passed between Hermione and him—their trust was the most important thing in his life.

**ooo**

The one-year anniversary of her parents' death was in February and Draco had arranged for Ron to win four tickets to see The Weird Sisters. He received a letter in the mail saying that because he'd purchased a certain product, he'd been automatically entered into a contest for the tickets.

Draco knew Ron would invite Hermione at least, and he also asked Harry and Ginny. Draco wanted to do something for Hermione that day, to at least get her mind off her parents, even if only for a little while. He watched as Hermione seemed to struggle with what to do. She walked to her closet and flipped through her clothes, then shut it and paced the room. Then she returned to the closet, hesitated for a moment, then grabbed a book and got into bed. Finally her friends showed up and she decided to go.

Draco watched them at the concert, completely happy to see Hermione so… happy. She laughed with her friends, danced with Ginny to the music, and never once showed any signs of being anything but delighted.

So he was surprised when she got home, went straight to the freezer and pulled out the ice cream, then went to the DVD player and put in her film. By this time, he had her reactions to the movie memorized. He expected tonight might be different, more emotional, because of what the day was. He loved watching Hermione watch the movie. There was something about the predictability, about knowing where she would cry, every time, that was comforting to him. Now that she'd taken the DVD out, he expected this night to be worse, expected her to cry more.

Only she didn't. She may have cried more during the times she usually cried, but she didn't cry more frequently. She was still wearing the dress she'd worn to the concert. It was green and he couldn't help but really appreciate the green on her. It was a dark, Slytherin green, and she was sitting on her sofa, legs crossed, bare feet, her hair falling out of the style she'd put it in earlier, but Merlin help him. He thought she was incredibly beautiful.

He had to remind himself that he had known for some time that he found her attractive, and that was it. That he wouldn't let himself feel anything for her.

And then, five months later, she moved in with him.

That first night she'd been there, he'd he covered her with his cloak. He'd gone to see if she needed anything before he turned in, and saw that she'd fallen asleep in the chair. He knew if she stayed there she'd have an awful crick in her neck, and he glanced at the swing. He wouldn't take her up to her room—what if she woke up? She'd probably panic and, if they were _in _her room, she'd probably hex him. No, it was much safer all around if he left her outside.

And he thought, for the first time of many, how glad he was he'd decided to install the swing.

He levitated her—the less jostling, the more likely she'd be to stay asleep—from the chair to the swing and set her down. Then he Summoned his cloak and laid it gently over her.

He looked down at the face he'd seen sleeping so many times and he had to fight—fight really, really hard—falling for her right then and there. But it was simply impossible. It couldn't happen, it wasn't supposed to happen. It would never happen, it would never work…. Just thinking about the possibility boggled his mind, and he couldn't… it wouldn't…

So he tucked her in and allowed himself a brief moment to look at her. She still had that peace he'd first seen in her after Christmas, but it had grown over the months since then. Even on the night of the anniversary of her parents' death, she'd been sad, but there was this…this feeling he got from watching her that she was above it all. She was _in _it, but she was above it, too.

He was mesmerized by her. And there she was again, looking completely at peace with the world and it just added to his attraction. It hit him, then, that it… the attraction… wasn't going to go away. So he forced it away. He had more important things to think about, more important things to do, than have a silly _crush _on a girl. No matter how wonderful and amazing she was, he couldn't allow it to be anything more than it was at that moment.

_She's amazing_.

_But it can never happen._

That night, he repeated it until he convinced himself that he really believed it.

**ooo**

**A/N**: Thanks for reading! Happy Friday and see you next week!


	4. Island of the Lost Soul

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Not making any money, just having fun.

**Note**: My beta rocks! Thanks to Eilonwy! You're incredible!

**General Reminder**: These are deleted scenes from the story "We Learned the Sea." If you haven't read it, these won't make any sense. You can find that story under my profile page. Also, these scenes weren't actually deleted from the story; they're more like _extra_ scenes. Enjoy!

_Requested by: A whole lot of people! Dedicated to two awesome people: Eilonwy – my wonderful beta, who basically FORCED me to write this scene! And waffenmac, for being an awesome reviewer._

**ooo**

Island of the Lost Soul

"Start talking, Malfoy," said Harry roughly. He sat down at his desk and crossed his arms.

Draco felt almost sick. This was it—eighteen months of preparation had led to _this_ moment. If Harry didn't believe him, didn't accept his offer, then not only were all his plans wasted, but Draco had no doubt he'd be thrown in Azkaban. Potter would probably even get a medal for it.

"Let's hear it," said Harry, tapping a clear, thin piece of glass. The number sixty stood out in bright red. Harry tapped it again, and the number started counting down. "Sixty minutes will pass before you know it."

"What do you want to know?" Draco asked, feeling as though as any moment he would be sick on Harry's desk.

Harry chuckled. "How about you start with why you're so scared—and white as a ghost."

Draco nodded slowly. "Because if you don't believe me, then everything will fall apart."

"What's everything? Details, Malfoy. You have to give me more than glib answers. You're trying to convince me not to chuck you in prison, and you're starting with a snowflake's chance in hell."

Draco glared at him. "I want out, Potter. I was never meant for this, not really. Bullying and harmless hexes were one thing, but this…" He shook his head. "I can't pretend anymore. And I'm offering you a chance to end the war, to end _him_. In return… I want to be allowed to leave England forever."

"You've essentially said as much already." Harry tapped his wand on the desk. "Why should I believe that's all you want, to leave England? For all I know, you're just going to use me to get rid of Voldemort, making way for you to take his place."

The look on Draco's face was enough to convince Harry that such a thought had never entered the other man's wildest thoughts.

"I…" Draco started. "I could never. I told you, I'm not made for this. For—for torture, and killing."

Harry narrowed his eyes and reached into his desk, pulling out a thick folder. He flipped it open. "Your rap sheet would indicate otherwise, Malfoy. Merlin, your use of Unforgiveable Curses alone would indicate that you have no problem whatsoever causing pain and torment. You tortured four hundred and fifty-eight people!"

Draco sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Actually, most of those were against fellow Death Eaters."

Harry frowned. "And… you think that's a good thing?"

"At least it wasn't against Muggles."

Slowly Harry nodded. "I… reckon that's true… The Imperius though. Did you use it to make people kill?"

"No."

"Not once?"

"There were enough people who _wanted _to kill that we didn't need to force anyone."

"Still… Merlin, this doesn't even take into account all of the technically legal things you did for your master, nor all the illegal things for which we don't have methods of tracking."

"How many people did I kill?" Draco asked, his voice shaking only very slightly at the end. He didn't think Potter noticed; Snape was right after all. Potter wasn't very good at subtleties.

Harry ran his finger down the parchment. "Forty-seven."

"That number doesn't seem… low to you?"

"Why should it? It's far more people than _I've _killed."

"When was the last one?"

Harry clenched his jaw and looked deeper into the stack of parchments detailing Malfoy's crimes. Then frowned even deeper and looked up. "What are you—"

"_When_, Potter?" he asked firmly.

"You _know _when. February of last year."

"Right. Eighteen months." He waited for Harry to come to some sort of conclusion. Harry merely stared at him. "And who were the last people I… killed?"

"Malfoy," said Harry angrily. "This isn't amusing _at_ _all_. You know very well—"

"What if I told you I didn't really kill them?"

Harry stopped mid-sentence, his mouth open. Then he shook his head. "You're sick."

"I mean it."

"I… You… I mean, I _saw _them, I was _there_, with Hermione, when she found them…" Harry trailed off when he saw a wave of intense emotion pass over Draco's eyes and he frowned. "Malfoy, I don't know what you're on about, but you'd better start talking."

"I didn't kill them. I was supposed to, and I went there to, but… something happened."

"What?" Harry asked, trying to sound disinterested.

Draco hesitated. Telling Potter all that had happened would mean showing more of himself than he was comfortable showing. He'd come a long way, thanks to Steve and Jane, but Potter was essentially a stranger, someone who happened to despise everything about him. But one thing he'd learned and become intimately familiar with over the last year and a half: most good things required sacrifice.

"I… couldn't do it. I couldn't go through with it."

Harry shrugged in differently. "Why? You'd done it before—what was the big deal?"

Draco had prepared an answer to this question. "Picture a bowl. Or your coffee mug that you spilled earlier. Now imagine that every horrible thing I've done is a drop of water. Eventually, it gets full, and the water spills. That's what happened that night."

"You got… full?"

"According to that analogy, yes. But really, it was more like the opposite. I was utterly empty."

Harry shook his head. "You're trying to make me feel sorry for you. It's not going to work."

Anger flared inside Draco and he narrowed his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you what happened. I don't really care what you think about me."

"You're trying to convince me that you _didn't _kill Hermione's parents. When I was there, saw their bodies, held Hermione's hand through the funeral. I saw their caskets lowered into the ground, and dirt piled on top."

Draco sighed. "Ever heard of the Draught of the Living Dead, Potter? The potion needs only a few modifications to truly mimic death, even convincing Muggle doctors."

Harry looked horrified. "That—that's horrible!"

"Dark magic, Potter."

"So… you're saying you _faked _their deaths?" Harry asked incredulously. "_Why_?"

"It's a long story."

"Well, we've got forty-three minutes left. Give me the short version."

Draco took a deep breath. "I… entered the house and found them at the dinner table. I hesitated—I told you—and then, they just… started talking. To me. And… by the end of the hour, I'd decided _not _to kill them, to turn against the Dark Lord, and to work to bring an end to him and his reign of fear."

Harry's eyes shot up. "Well, that must have been some conversation. But what does this have to do with anything?"

"You wanted proof that I'm not here to double-cross you, or take over when the Dark Lord dies. I'm trying to give you that proof, that I'm _not_… this… Mark on my arm. That I _want _him dead."

Harry shook his head. "I… this is just too _fantastic_, Malfoy. It's too hard to believe—why would they go along with it?"

Draco pulled a small, grey bag out of his robes. From it, he withdrew a piece of parchment and handed it to Harry. "Read this."

Harry took the parchment and carefully, skeptically, opened it.

ooo

_Dear Harry,_

_If you're reading this, then you're at least listening to what Draco has to say. And you also don't believe him. We understand! Please accept this as proof that he is telling you the truth. _

_I remember when you and Hermione came to visit us a few summers ago. She wore that yellow dress, you remember? You told her she looked like a daisy, and she said she hoped Ron—they were dating at the time—would finally open his eyes and really _see _her, and not the girl he'd known since you were eleven. _

_That never happened, but that's not what this letter is about. Harry, I know this is hard and impossible of us to ask, but please, trust Draco. He's telling the truth._

_Jane Granger_

ooo

Harry carefully folded the parchment and returned it to Draco. "You could have forced her to write that before you killed her."

Draco clenched his jaw. "Right, well." He handed Harry something else.

It was a picture of him with Steve and Jane, Steve's arm around his shoulder, all of them smiling. Harry frowned. "Where is this?"

"My island."

"You—_really_ have an island?"

"YES, Potter."

Harry flipped the picture over and then back. "It's not moving."

"Muggle camera. Steve's."

Harry shook his head and returned the picture. "Okay, say that I believe you. I'm not saying I do, but what happens next? So you didn't kill them—so what?"

"As I've said, I'm offering you the chance to bring down the Dark Lord."

"How? What would that involve?"

Draco nodded. "I've been developing a plan for the last year and a half. I have a house in Wales that is Unplottable, has all the standard security enchantments and quite a few more, plus it's concealed by the Fidelius Charm. If you agree, you would go there with me and I would train you, give you everything you need to defeat him."

"Why me?" Harry asked. "Why not just do it yourself?"

"I know about the Prophecy," Draco said simply. "I know that it has to be you."

Harry's eyes widened. "How did you—"

"Snape," Draco quipped. "In addition… Granger would accompany you."

"You cannot be serious! She'd never—after what you—" Harry shook his head. "No, I think you should leave Hermione out of this."

"I—I can't," Draco started. "I promised her parents I would keep her safe."

Harry laughed. "You—you really are something, Malfoy. This story gets more and more ludicrous the more you talk. Her _parents _asked _you _to keep her safe?"

"Yes. Again, it's a long story, one I _don't _need to go into right now."

"And you want her to come stay at your house. With you."

"_Us_. Yes. Once I have openly left the Dark Lord, I will be hunted and it will be a much more difficult task to watch over her."

Harry crossed his arms and looked at Draco skeptically. "You've been watching over Hermione. To keep her safe. Why?"

"I told you. Her parents asked me to."

"From your kind?" Harry asked.

"From anything, really."

"And did you ever have to… you know, fulfill this request? To come to her rescue, so to speak?"

Draco shifted in his chair. "Not in the way you're thinking—that I'd swoop in and save the day. Fortunately, she was never in that much danger. I worked to protect her more from the inside. You see, I… I was supposed to kill her too," he said quietly.

Anger blazed in Harry's eyes and he set his jaw, scowling intensely at Draco.

"Because I did _not _kill her, I had to convince the Dark Lord that she was more important, more valuable, to him alive. Otherwise, he would have killed me and sent someone else for her. Beyond that, I had to _continue _convincing him, reminding him of what she was doing."

"And what was she doing?"

"Nothing. But I told the Dark Lord she was involved in a very secret, highly important research project at the Department of Mysteries. He put me in charge of tailing her, which made it much easier to keep my promise to Steve and Jane."

"How did you watch over her? How could you have done without us knowing?"

"I did a couple of things. First, I cast a spell that would, to a limited extent, Bind me to her. I am able to sense her fear, even the slightest inkling of it, and to quickly ascertain its cause. If she were under serious threat, I would then be able to Apparate directly to her and offer my assistance, so to speak."

"She'd probably hex you before you got the chance."

"True, and so I would cast a temporary shield charm before Apparating. I've thought of all the angles, Potter. The other measure I took was to create a kind of window, as I called it, that would allow me to see her whenever I wished."

Harry's anger flared again. "Her parents wanted this, you say? For you to constantly _spy_ on her?"

Draco did his best to remain calm. "I didn't constantly _spy_. And yes, they wanted me to keep a close eye on her. I kept them apprised of what was going on at all times. In the beginning, I mostly kept tabs on her myself, as it was the most critical period. The Dark Lord wavered greatly in his thoughts on her, and Weasley too. I did everything I could to direct his focus elsewhere."

"You could see her, anytime you wanted. That's sick, Malfoy."

"I would never—I _never _betrayed the trust her parents put in me. They essentially gave me a second chance at life, and I would do anything for them."

Harry shook his head. "It's just… I don't believe you. I can't! What you're suggesting…"

"What do I have to do to convince you?" Draco asked, glancing at the clock; it now read twenty-three minutes.

"Let me see if I understand this so far. You want me to work with you in order to bring down Voldemort. You want Hermione—whose parents you may or may not have killed—to come too. Why her? What about Ron? Or anyone else?"

"No. No one else. She's only to be involved because of her parents."

"And what is she supposed to do? I assure you, she will not take kindly to the suggestion that she sit around this… house of yours."

"I will train you to kill the Dark Lord. She gets that list of Death Eaters."

Harry nodded slowly. "Fine. Fine. So we go to this house. You train me. What then?"

"We go after him," Draco said simply. "I've worked out the plan as far as I can. I know about the Horcruxes he'd made, the ones you destroyed. He created new ones, and you destroyed those as well. I also know he's going to create another one, and that he believes it will be beyond your skill to destroy. We will determine what that Horcrux is, and destroy it. By any means necessary. Then we go for him."

"We?" Harry repeated.

"Unless you would prefer to go alone," said Draco.

"I… it's just too incredible a story. You come here and offer to show me how to defeat Voldemort. You say you've changed, that you want him dead. The proof you offer is the fact that you didn't kill Hermione's parents, but you've given no real evidence. That letter, while I admit it was Jane's handwriting, could have been something you forced her to write before killing her. And photos can be fixed." Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair. "I—I would have to see them."

He expected Malfoy to finally fold, to show some sign of recognition that his attempt had failed. Instead, Draco merely nodded. "If you must, you must," he said, standing.

Harry's jaw dropped. "You—you're serious?"

"Of course. But we must hurry, there's not a lot of time. You're familiar, I'm sure, with the business of Side-Along Apparation. As unpleasant as it sounds, you must therefore take my arm."

Harry slowly came out from behind his desk, still staring in disbelief at Draco. What on earth was he thinking? Ever so hesitantly, he extended his arm to link with Draco's. In an instant, he felt the familiar tug at his naval and then it stopped. He kept his eyes shut tight, only at that moment realizing how stupid he'd been to simply allow the Death Eater to Apparate him anywhere—he could have taken him straight to Voldemort!

But soon the sound of rolling waves and the smell of sea air filled Harry's senses and he slowly opened his eyes. Draco pulled his arm away as though he might become contaminated with some horrendous disease if he touched Harry any longer. Harry barely noticed as he stared around him.

"You… we… where _are _we?"

Draco sighed. "The island. And oh yes. The Grangers live here. I've named it Isle de âme en peine. Come on." Draco turned and started walking toward a house Harry hadn't noticed before. No, that wasn't quite right—the house hadn't been there a moment earlier.

"Malfoy—"

"_Fidelius_."

Harry scolded himself and trudged after Draco.

When they arrived at the front door, Draco knocked. It puzzled Harry, but before he could ask, the door was flung wide, revealing a very concerned Jane Granger. Unmistakably, very much _alive_.

"Draco!" she said. "What are you going here?" Then she seemed to notice that Draco wasn't alone. "_Harry?!_" Jane looked at Draco, somewhat relieved. "So the letter and photo didn't work?"

"Nope," he replied.

"Well, come in then," she said.

As they entered, Draco said, "We don't have a lot of time, Jane," and disappeared further into the house. Harry was still staring at Jane.

"Hello, Harry. I imagine this is quite a shock.. How are you doing? How is Hermione?" Then her eyes filled with tears. "Please, just trust Draco"

"I…I thought…" Harry started, looking in the direction Malfoy had gone.

Jane said, "Oh, well, yes, he tells us what's going on, but you actually get to _talk _to her."

Harry mentally shook away the cobwebs that had quickly sprung up in his brain. There was simply no denying what he was seeing: Hermione's mother, living, breathing, worrying for her daughter. Malfoy could have used Polyjuice, but… somehow, Harry didn't think he had.

"She's… good, Mrs. Granger."

"How many times must I tell you to call me Jane?"

Harry nodded, still dazed. "Really good… Jane. You know how strong she is."

Jane nodded, her eyes still full. Harry heard voices in the hall and looked up to see Draco and Steve enter the room, talking quietly. Steve brightened when he saw Harry and extended his hand.

"Harry! Good to see you! How are things?"

"Fine," said Harry listlessly. "And with you?"

Steve looked at Draco and then back at Harry. "As well as they can be, considering."

"Considering you're supposed to be dead."

"Yes. Draco will explain everything, Harry. Don't be upset or angry with him. Trust him."

Harry forced a laugh. "Trust _him_? You cannot be serious! That's like asking me to start taking tea with Voldemort!"

Jane put her hand on Harry's arm and gave him a gently squeeze. Harry flinched. "I know this is hard for you, that this seems impossible right now, but you have the chance to do something truly wonderful."

Draco looked at a pocket watch he'd produced from somewhere on his person. "Time, Potter. Let's go."

Jane hugged him tight. "Oh, Harry! It was so _good _to see you! Do take care, and… and give Hermione a hug from us."

"Only not from _us_," said Steve, shaking Harry's hand once more. "Best of luck, Harry."

Harry nodded dully and went out the door. He started walking back to the spot on the beach where they'd arrived, but turned around just in time to see Draco embrace Jane and then Steve before leaving the house himself.

He walked swiftly toward Harry and extended his arm. "Your turn to get us back."

A few seconds later they were back safely inside the office, and Harry fell heavily into his chair, his mind spinning.

Draco glanced at the clock and saw that it read only eight minutes. "Potter. What is your decision?"

"I…well, I reckon I can't deny they're alive… which means you _didn't _kill them… which means…" He let out a frustrated sigh. "You must be telling the truth. Say… say I go along with this. What happens now? Right now?"

"That is up to you. Though I must advise you to take some time to prepare for what's to come."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll have to leave the visible world and disappear. We'll be working non-stop, every moment we can. You can't keep your job, and… you'll have to tell your other half that you won't be able to see her for awhile."

"How do you—"

"Another time," Draco said firmly.

"You're going to Azkaban," Harry said quickly, now trying to process what would be the best course of action.

Draco's heart jumped. "Why?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"I want you where I can get to you easily, where I know you can't get away."

"For how long?"

"Until you've given me everything you have. How does this affect your plan?"

"Very little, really. Delays it somewhat, but I'd anticipated that to _some _degree."

"Okay, you're going to Azkaban. What next?"

Draco thought quickly. "You'll have to send someone to retrieve the information I have about the Death Eaters. I gave you only a list of names, which disappeared, but I have much, much more. It's all in my head."

"How?"

"Memory charm. I will communicate to you through code in the information I provide."

"Communicate? About what?"

"Since I'm going to be locked up, there are things that need doing. You will do them," Draco said simply.

The clocked beeped, indicating only three minutes remained.

"Do we have a deal?" Draco asked.

Harry stared at the picture of him, Ron and Hermione, taken at the small, makeshift, leaving celebration they'd held after completing their courses. Then he thought of the picture of Ginny he kept in his desk drawer. He looked at Draco.

"Yes."

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I am going to post all the remaining scenes today. They were fun to write, and I really enjoyed hearing from all of you what you wanted to see. I'm sorry to those of you whose requests I didn't specifically address. I tried to include as many smaller scenes in these chapters as possible.

Hope you liked this one!


	5. Letter Writing Type

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Not making any money, just having fun.

**Note**: Thanks to my beta, Eilonwy! A thousand thank yous! Chapter title taken from "If I Wrote You" by… yup, you guessed it – Dar Williams.

**General Reminder**: These are deleted scenes from the story "We Learned the Sea." If you haven't read it, these won't make any sense. You can find that story under my profile page. Also, these scenes weren't actually deleted from the story; they're more like _extra_ scenes. Enjoy!

**ooo**

**Letter Writing Type**

Draco hadn't planned on leaving the Edge until the first phase of his plan was complete. However, just two weeks after Harry and Hermione had arrived, he received a message that had to be answered.

A strange yet somehow familiar owl delivered a letter to him one night after dinner. Hermione was outside reading and Draco and Harry were discussing the day's progress. Draco frowned as he removed the small envelope from the owl's leg. It flew away immediately; no return reply was necessary.

Inside the envelope was a stiff, square black card; inscribed on it in bold, block-style, white letters was the message: AT ONCE.

Too late, Draco remembered that Harry was in the room.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A message," Draco replied absently, still staring at the card. "I'll be leaving tonight, Potter. I should be back before morning."

Harry's eyes widened. "I thought you said you couldn't go anywhere."

"There are two, perhaps three places I can go and be safe. Tonight, I've been called to one of them."

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" Harry asked.

"That depends on the nature of the call. I cannot imagine that it would have any bearing on what we're doing here."

Harry glanced toward the porch door. "Is it…_them_?" he whispered.

"No."

"Then who—"

"Potter. I have given my word to share with you everything that related to this cause. As difficult as it may be for you to imagine, I _do _have something of a presence in other circles."

Harry nodded. "Are you leaving now, then?"

"No."

"But it says, 'at once.'"

"I know what it says, but unlike you, I also know what it _means_." Draco stood and pushed his chair under the table. "Don't wait up," he said with a smirk and left the kitchen.

Four hours later, Draco was standing at the top of a bridge in Castle Morpeth on a dark, cobbled road. He had a full, heavy cloak drawn around him, the hood completely hiding his face. The only light was the moon.

He stood peering into the darkness, watching the moon dance on the brook as it tripped and danced over the smooth, worn stones of the bed. She was late. She was _always _late. It gave her control.

"You came."

Draco jumped; he'd heard no one approach.

"Of course I came," he said turning to see a figure approaching in the moonlight, cloaked in black. "One does not refuse such an invitation."

"Indeed," said the figure, a woman. He could tell she was amused.

"What do you want?" Draco asked.

"Let me look at you."

Draco scowled but complied, lowering his hood. The woman followed suit. Draco smirked. "Your hair is on fire, dear aunt."

Andromeda Tonks quirked an eyebrow. Her hair was a very bright shade of red. "How does the moon find you tonight, nephew?"

He sighed. "Well. Though I'm sure you didn't summon me for that. What do you want, Andromeda?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't be so hasty, Draco. I had a sudden, inexplicable desire to see you, and I acted accordingly." She studied his face, his eyes. It was unsettling; he looked away.

"My, my, Draco. Who is she?"

His scowl deepened. "I have no idea what—"

"I'm talking about," she finished. "Of course you don't. Tut tut, Draco. You know there's no use denying it." Andromeda walked regally to the bridge and stood beside him. "Pray tell, would dear old dad approve?"

Draco shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"Excellent," said Andromeda gleefully. "Going to join the ranks of the family outcasts?"

"Andromeda, I don't have all night," he replied irritably.

"Of course you don't. You have someone…" she paused, watching him. "…some_thing_ very important to return to." She nodded. "I understand. There are things in this life worth dying for. I am pleased to learn you've finally caught on."

"Death is ever before me," he returned.

"Of course it is. We're in a war. And it is death I wish to discuss with you." Andromeda began circling him slowly; he remained stationary, staring into the night.

"When you came to me, two years ago, I helped you, no questions asked. I gave you information, materials… I saw that you had a fire lit inside you, and that you would accomplish your end with or without my help. So I chose to aid you, under the condition that I could, at any point in time, make a request of you."

Draco swallowed hard. Andromeda knew things. He had no idea how she knew them, but she did. He couldn't lie to her, and he'd given his word to repay her kindness. At the same time, he didn't completely trust her. "What would you ask of me?"

She stopped circling and faced him, and her eyes, for the first time he'd ever seen, were free of the knowing glint and instead, full of concern. "Spare Bella."

Draco blinked, momentarily speechless. "I have no intention of killing anyone."

"Whatever you do, Draco, please. Don't end her life."

Draco cocked his head slightly. "She wouldn't ask the same for you."

"I know that," said Andromeda softly. "But she and I are very different." Then she chuckled. "Obviously. Everyone always said your mother and she were like night and day, but that was only in their appearance. Bella and I have always butted heads."

"I cannot make any promises, Andromeda. This is a war, as you mentioned."

Andromeda's eyes bored into his. "Please don't kill her. I'm not worried about Narcissa. I know you would go to great lengths to keep her safe, despite your tenuous relationship."

Draco sighed. "I won't kill Bellatrix."

Without blinking, without pause, Andromeda continued. "Neither can Potter kill her."

Draco's breath caught in his throat and fear seized him.

"Do not worry, nephew. I don't _know _enough to do you any harm and besides, if you're up to what I think you're up to, the world will be a better place."

Draco nodded slowly. "Potter won't kill her."

Andromeda let out her breath and she smiled, genuinely relieved. "Thank you, Draco."

"But I can make no promises about her life."

"Of course. Bella will make her own choices. I just felt, very suddenly, that the biggest threat to her life was you."

"There is only one circumstance under which I will be unable to keep my word. You should know of this possibility."

Andromeda frowned. "What is it?"

"If the Dark Lord can _only _be defeated if Bellatrix is dead."

"She could be Stunned instead," Andromeda protested.

"Were she merely in the way, yes. What I'm saying is, if, for whatever reason the Dark Lord _cannot _be defeated _unless _Bellatrix dies, then we will have to kill her."

Andromeda peered into his eyes as though searching. He felt nothing—he knew it wasn't Legilimancy—but he still felt that she was sifting through his memories and thoughts somehow. And there were quite a few memories he didn't want her to see…

Her eyes suddenly went wide. "Merlin!" she breathed. "Such evil magic, such a twisted soul! I understand, Draco. And, should such an awful thing befall her, she's no longer my sister anyway. I would release you for your promise."

Draco nodded.

Andromeda smiled. "It was good to see you, Draco. I look forward to a time when out meetings might be more frequent and less covert."

"As do I," he replied.

"Thank you for coming."

"Goodnight, Andromeda."

Draco remained in the middle of the bridge and watched as Andromeda walked toward the end of the bridge. She stopped just as she disappeared from his sight.

"I agree with you, Draco. She _is _beautiful. Good night."

Draco shut his eyes and heard Andromeda Disapparate with a _pop! _He turned to lean against the railing of the bridge once more, his thoughts resting on the image in his mind of a brown-haired witch sleeping on his porch swing.

**ooo**

**A/N: **I really, really had fun with this chapter! Specifically, Andromeda. Hope you like it too!


	6. Ounces and Pounds

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Not making any money, just having fun.

**Note**: Thank you, thank you, thank you, Eilonwy! Chapter title taken from the saying: An ounce of preparation is worth a pound of cure.

**General Reminder**: These are deleted scenes from the story "We Learned the Sea." If you haven't read it, these won't make any sense. You can find that story under my profile page. Also, these scenes weren't actually deleted from the story; they're more like _extra_ scenes. Enjoy!

**ooo**

**Ounces and Pounds**

**August, End**

Harry awoke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. For a moment, he forgot where he was and panicked, reaching for his wand. Just as his hand wrapped around it, the person knocked again. Harry squinted in the darkness and could just make out a thin line of light surrounding the door. He glanced around the room and remembrance flooded through him.

With a sigh, he lowered his arm and said, "Come in."

The door opened slowly, admitting a wider beam of weak light that Harry recognized was coming from a wand. Draco Malfoy appeared after a moment more.

"Good. You're awake."

Harry scowled. "I am _now_." Then he looked at the window. "Malfoy, it's still dark out."

Draco pushed open the door the rest of the way and Harry saw that he was fully dressed and appeared wide-awake. "Training begins now. Let's go." Then he disappeared, taking the small light with him.

Harry groaned and rolled out of bed, muttering curses at the blond. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and slipped on his trainers, before making his way downstairs.

Draco was waiting by the front door. "Good. Come on." He opened the door and disappeared through it.

Harry yawned and followed.

When they were thirty yards from the house, Draco said, "First thing every morning, we run. I've marked and cleared a three-mile trail through the woods that surround the house. It starts there—" he pointed in the direction they were headed "—and ends over there." Now he pointed to a patch of trees behind him. "You'll be much slower than I am to begin with, but you'll catch up."

"But… we're _running_? Why?"

"It is necessary that you in the best physical shape possible, Potter."

"Physical shape? You sound like a Muggle," he muttered. "With all their fitness talk."

Draco turned and glared at him. "You must be able to fight continuously, without stopping or needing a break, for as long as possible. To do that, you must be fit. We start with running."

Harry followed Draco in silence to the beginning of the trail, where Draco showed him the sign of the trail: a fluorescent light in the shape of a bug was attached to the tree. Draco tapped the bug and muttered "_Lumos_." The bug started to glow, and Harry saw that there were bugs on many trees all through the forest, leading in an obvious path.

"When you start, simply tap this light. When you finish, tap the last. It will record your time, which we will use to monitor your progress." Draco looked at Harry. "Those jeans were not the best choice for running."

"I didn't _know _we'd be running."

"Would you like to change?" Draco asked smugly.

"No."

Draco nodded once. "All right, then. See you at the end." With that, he tapped the first bug and started running. Only then did Harry notice that Draco wore running pants and a t-shirt.

Harry waited until Draco was nearly out of sight before heaving a large sigh and tapping the bug himself.

He'd always thought, though he didn't exercise regularly, that he was in decent physical shape. Very quickly, he realized it wasn't true. Draco soon passed out of his sight, and he huffed and puffed his way along the trail, slowing once to a walk. He was drenched in sweat and had a terrible stitch in his side by the time he finally reached the end of the trail. He tapped the bug and stopped, resting his hands on his knees.

"Don't stop moving," came Draco's voice. Harry ignored him. "Potter, walk around for a few minutes or you'll get a cramp."

Harry muttered another choice curse at Draco under his breath, but did as he said. He looked up to see Draco watching him, looking quite amused.

"Not bad," he finally said, tapping the bug; all the lights went out. The sky, which had been a deep, velvety blue when they left the house, had lightened considerably.

Harry was still breathing hard. "How—how long?"

"Thirty-two minutes. Just over ten minutes per mile. Better than my first run, actually. It would seem Auror training isn't completely worthless after all. You'll get better though."

Harry was too tired to care about Draco's barb. "What… what about… you?"

"Twenty minutes. But I took it easy, as I've been locked up for a month. Naturally, I'm a bit rusty."

"I take it… you did this… before…"

"Every day for over a year, yes."

Harry nodded. "Excellent. So, now—back to bed?"

Draco simply stared at him, not quite sure what to say.

"Joking," said Harry quickly. "Honestly, Malfoy. Lighten up a bit, will you?"

Draco started to smile but quickly suppressed it and proceeded to ignore Harry's comment. "As I said, every morning we will run this trail. Then we will begin the magical training."

"What, no weight lifting?" Harry asked, determined to force Draco to crack his frosty demeanor.

"I will begin today by assessing your current abilities, to see where you need improvement. I will check a number of different magical fields, including Legilimancy and Occlumancy."

Harry groaned. "I'm rubbish at Occlumency."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Snape tried to teach me."

"_Snape_?" Draco repeated, incredulous.

Harry nodded. "Fifth year."

Draco frowned, thinking. Then, "Ah. Remedial potions?"

"Yeah. It was a disaster. And that's putting it nicely."

"Well, nevertheless, you must learn it. Else the Dark Lord will be able to anticipate your moves and know your thoughts."

Harry signed. "If you say so."

"Of course I do."

"What about yesterday? When do we do that again?"

Draco scowled. "That was for a bit of… recreation. I hadn't been on a broom in quite some time. Trying to knock each other off your brooms is hardly something you'll be encountering when fighting the Dark Lord."

"Oh," said Harry quietly. "Right."

"The real training begins today."

Harry sighed and followed Draco back to the house. He would not make Draco crack that day.

**ooo**

**September, Middle**

"Time out!" Harry shouted, collapsing to his knees, breathing hard.

"Time _out_?" repeated Draco, incredulous. "You don't _get _time out, Potter. The Dark Lord has no patience for weakness like this."

"Then it's… a good thing… for me… you're not… him," Harry gasped out.

Draco frowned. "_I _don't have a lot of patience for this, either."

"Yes, well, you can't expect me to be at your level in only two weeks!"

"No, I suppose not."

"Merlin, Malfoy. You should train Aurors after all of this is over."

Draco looked at Harry in surprise. "Train Aurors? You can't be serious."

"I am! If all our people had to go through this kind of training, we'd be unstoppable."

"Somehow, I don't see employment with the Ministry of Magic in my future," Draco said with a chuckle.

"Well, why not? After all of this is over—"

"I'm leaving England," Draco interrupted in a firm tone.

"You say that, but it's awfully hard to believe you'd leave your home, everything you know. I quite agree with Hermione's assessment." Harry started to grin. "You need people to feel superior to."

Draco scowled. "That may have been true at one time in my life, but it is true no longer. The idea of starting completely over where no one knows who I am is quite appealing."

Harry shook his head. "Won't last. You are who you are, Malfoy. You won't be able to completely start over. You'll still have to be yourself."

Draco looked uncomfortable and sat down, his back to the cliff wall. He was quiet for a very long time. Finally, he said, "Perhaps. But that is a long time from now."

"But you're Mr. Planner! Surely you've thought about what happens _after _the end of Voldemort."

"Of course I have. There are a few things that must be done."

"Like telling Hermione the truth."

Again Draco remained silent for a few minutes.

"Yes, of course."

"And the business of getting you pardoned."

"Naturally."

"What else?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Bringing the Grangers back to England, setting them up."

"Oh, right, right. Speaking of them, how are the preparations for tomorrow?"

"Fine, naturally. They'll be in disguise, so Granger won't recognize them. They'll arrive at the restaurant after we do, and I've already given them a listening device. It's a shell that I charmed. Steve gave me the idea—like walkie-talkies, only this one works just one way. I will have the other piece on me."

Harry chuckled.

"What?"

"Nothing… well, I reckon it's funny hearing you talk about Muggle stuff. You know, considering what an enormous git you always were about blood and all that."

Draco set his jaw. "I would think I no longer need to remind you that I do not feel that way anymore."

"No, no need for reminders… it just makes me laugh, is all. Keep going about tomorrow."

Draco shrugged. "I'll try to get Granger to open up a bit, so her parents can hear what's going on in her life. At some point, as we're telling Granger this is a meeting, I'll speak with them. Then we'll leave."

"Her parents asked you to do this?"

"No… I offered."

"You really care about them, don't you?"

"More than anything," Draco said quietly, pulling up a handful of grass. "I wish… that somehow it would be possible to remain in contact with them. After everything, I mean. They're… as close to family as I've ever had."

Harry didn't say anything; there was nothing he _could_ say.

"Break's over," said Draco with a heavy sigh unlike anything Harry had heard from him. They both stood and brushed themselves off. Harry didn't want to keep going, but Draco suddenly had a look of fire in his eyes.

**ooo**

**October, Middle**

Draco slammed the door and Harry hurried after him. It was an overcast Saturday morning and they'd just finished lunch with Hermione. Draco went straight to the cliff and with a grunt, told Harry to fly down to the ledge. Harry did; he knew not to antagonize Draco when he was in this mood.

When they reached the ledge, Draco quickly dismounted and set his broom aside.

"Today you'll be learning something new," he said briskly, brandishing his wand but not looking at Harry.

"New?" Harry repeated. In the past month and a half, he'd advanced quickly, which made sense, considering they trained for as long as it was daylight, most every day of the week, and sometimes even in the dark. He'd had to learn Occlumency quickly because Draco was vicious in his attacks. Though, unlike Snape, he gave Harry instruction and advice for actually _repelling _him, instead of berating him and yelling at him to try harder. Legilimancy came more naturally to Harry.

He'd greatly improved his physical fitness, and he and Draco usually raced in the mornings through the trail in the woods; it was no sure thing as to who would win. For that entire week, they'd worked on deflecting, dispelling, and generally avoiding spells from the enemy. Draco began with a few spells at a time, and gradually increased both the frequency and intensity of the spells he sent at Harry, who had to avoid being hit.

Though it was difficult work, Harry felt invigorated at the end of most days. He felt as though he were doing something that really _mattered_.

Occasionally, Draco would simply have Harry duel with him. On those days, Harry just wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out. He'd dueled with Draco in the very beginning and was surprised to lose so quickly. And each subsequent time, he'd expected to do better; but each time, it was obvious that Draco had held back in the previous duels.

He thought perhaps, the last time, he'd caught Draco by surprise, but it only seemed to make him angry and the duel was over within a few minutes.

"Yes, new. Wand out; good. You'll be learning the spell to counter the Cruciatus."

"Draco," said Harry warily. "Are you going to actually _cast _the Cruciatus? At me? That's an illegal curse."

"Really? I so wish someone had told me," he replied sarcastically. "The Cruciatus can be blocked, but it requires extreme concentration. The spell itself is tricky as well."

"Why don't you just talk about it, instead of hurling illegal curses at me."

"_Talk_?" said Draco with disdain. "Talk about what?"

"Hermione. I mean, I know she can get on your nerves, but—"

"I certainly have no desire to talk about _her_."

"I know she upset you, Draco."

He scowled and finally lowered his wand.

"There," said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief. A volatile Draco was not something he wanted to face in a duel. "Now, I know Hermione can be difficult. What Ron used to do, when they fought, was to list all of the things he didn't like about Hermione, and then list all of the things he _did _like about her. You could try it…" Harry trailed off at the look on Draco's face.

"It is no wonder she and Weasley didn't last. He's such an enormous moron—he could never make her happy," Draco said and he instantly regretted it.

Harry's eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets. "What… are you suggesting that you could do better?"

"No," said Draco calmly. "I am simply suggesting that she can do much better than Weasley."

Harry considered the other man, who was trying very hard to be nonchalant, but was at the same time, pointedly not looking at him while making every effort to appear as though nothing at all were out of the ordinary.

Harry didn't have a lot of evidence for the rapidly growing suspicion taking root in his mind; there had only been the day when Hermione had her second date with Seamus. Harry had noticed the way Draco had cut the ginger stems after she'd gone. Since then, he had been watching for anything, any possible sign of something on Draco's part, but he'd been so closed, so impassive, that Harry hadn't seen anything.

So this… _this _was interesting. And Harry wasn't going to just let it go.

"Well, Malfoy… _are _you better?"

Draco glared at Harry and walked to the edge of the ledge and looked down at the water. He hated Harry's question. He'd been raised to believe he _was _better than Ron Weasley—better than most people, really. And yet at the same time, he felt as though he were the worst person in the entire world. He felt… undeserving of anything good, as though his presence, his very existence, cast a shadow on the world. Steve and Jane had tried—_repeatedly_—to disabuse him of such thoughts, but they were still there, under the surface, whispering in his ear whenever he felt the slightest bit of happiness.

Was he _better_ than Ron? Yes and no. Mostly no, though it pained him greatly to admit it. But when it came to Hermione…

"At least I can respect that what you call shortcomings in her are actually strong character and conviction. She may anger me, and get under my skin, but it's because she isn't the kind of person who just gives in, or accepts things at face value. She wants to know _why_, and I can't always tell her _why_. So we often butt heads. I do not begrudge her wanting to know."

"Merlin's beard!" said Harry, gasping. "You—you _fancy _her! You really do!"

Draco scowled more deeply than Harry could remember seeing and said, "Now, Potter. About the blocking curse."

Harry readied his wand, but he was still gaping at Draco. "You _do_!"

"I _respect _her," said Draco through clenched teeth. "There is a very significant difference."

"You fancy her, and… you're _jealous_ because of Seamus! That's what that spat was at lunch!"

Draco's scowl, if possible, deepened. "You're barking."

"I'm right!"

"Enough!" Draco yelled. "This is not something that merits discussion. There are far more important things than this."

"Just admit to it—"

"I do _not _fancy her. Are we clear?" Draco's eyes were blazing.

Harry narrowed his. "Are you lying?"

"Merlin, Potter! I answer your query and you don't believe me—what's the point?"

Harry considered Draco. He didn't think he believed him—some little voice in his head told him to trust his instinct—but he also didn't like the look on Draco's face. They'd forged a tentative friendship, and Harry didn't want to push him. Not yet…

"Okay. I believe you."

"Good. Now can we move on?"

"To blocking the Cruciatus," said Harry, once again feeling nervous in the pit of his stomach at the idea of incorrectly blocking the curse.

"Yes. I won't actually _aim _for you, but you'll still be able to deflect it. I'll aim just to your right—so don't move unnecessarily—and if you cast the spell correctly, the Cruciatus will bounce off the shield that will form around you. And, should one or both of us mess up, you won't actually be hit with the full spell, as I don't truly want to cause you unending and horrific pain."

Harry cracked a smile at that. "Thanks… You know, when the Moody imposter showed us the Unforgivable curses, he never said the Cruciatus couldn't be blocked, but he never said it could, either. Unlike the Killing Curse, which can't be blocked. If there's a way, why didn't they teach us in Auror training?"

"Not very many people know about it. I found it quite by accident in a very old book of my father's. The incantation is non-verbal, so pay very close attention. And don't be discouraged if you aren't successful at first. It's a difficult spell to master."

Harry nodded and Draco began describing the process.

**ooo**

**November, Middle**

"Today we're going to use our minds to battle. It's been a few weeks since we focused there. No spells, except of course whatever you have to do to get me out of your mind."

Harry took a deep breath and said, "Okay."

"Prepare yourself, Potter," said Draco.

"I'm ready."

Draco pointed his wand at Harry. "_Legilimens!_"

Harry was instantly bombarded by Draco's mind. However, as Draco had instructed, he had prepared a memory, a _false _memory, to act as a kind of alert. As soon as Draco was in his mind, the only image available was of the false memory. It was of Harry sitting by a pond, feeding ducks. In order to plant the memory in the forefront of his mind, Harry imagined that he had been there, had fed the ducks, so hard and so often that his mind eventually believed he _had _fed ducks by a pond one afternoon.

It was a trigger memory. As soon as this memory came to life in Harry's mind, walls would start going up elsewhere, protecting his most vital memories first. It also gave Harry a few seconds to collect himself and force the perpetrator out of his mind. He was successful; he pushed Draco out before he was able to break through the false memory in a matter of moments.

"Excellent," said Draco. "I think you've got the hang of Occlumency, don't you?"

Harry sighed. "Reckon so."

"Now. I trust you've been practicing Legilimency?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Then its your turn."

Harry took a deep breath and collected himself before casting the spell. He immediately saw Draco's false memory: simply him flying through the sky, through the skies, with the occasional passing of a bird. That was it. Harry felt confident that he could break through.

He looked for the crack and when he found it, attacked it. Nothing happened. He tried a new tactic; still nothing. Again and again, nothing worked, and Draco waited patiently. Finally Harry remembered the one thing that had worked against Snape, the one thing he'd never told Draco about. So he cast the Shield Charm and he was suddenly inside Draco's mind.

Memories flashed by quickly—of him as a small boy, of him with his parents, his first kiss. And then a picture of him talking to Hermione, civilly, in a coffee shop. Harry stopped and stared, watching the scene for a few seconds, completely stunned.

In that moment, Draco expelled Harry from his mind.

Harry opened his eyes and saw Draco scowling at him. "Wh-what was that?" he asked.

"That was none of your business."

Harry shook his head, chuckling. "But… you were just sitting and talking with Hermione. How is that _not _my business?"

"Were you there? Did you see yourself in the scene, sitting and talking with us? No. So it's none of your business."

"Yes, but… why on earth would she have let _you_ sit at a table with her. I mean, she was _smiling_, she looked happy. That… couldn't have happened recently."

Draco looked away, but not before Harry saw him scowl even deeper. Finally he said, "I imagine she would only do that if she didn't know it was me."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling monumentally stupid. "Right. She didn't recognize you."

"No."

"When did this happen?"

Draco sighed and sat down. "Um… I reckon about a year ago." Harry looked at him expectantly. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope," Harry replied.

"I had to go to Diagon Alley, so I assumed an alias. I bumped into her—literally—in the Apothecary. A few of the ingredients I'd been carrying had been ruined, and she insisted on paying for them. I wouldn't allow it, so she asked to buy me coffee to make up for it. I thought it would be quite rude to say no. We had coffee. That is all."

Harry nodded. "I remember her telling us about that, now that you mention it. She seemed bummed that you turned her down for dinner."

Draco reddened. "Yes, well. I couldn't very well do _that_, could I?" he snapped.

"No, I reckon not."

"Right. Are we through with this conversation? I'd like to continue our _work_, as it's infinitely more pressing than this conversation."

**ooo**

**January, Beginning**

"Draco…"

"Yes, Harry?"

"There's… an O_wl _for you."

Their eyes met and Draco's insides clenched tightly.

"You'd better open it," said Harry.

Carefully, in case the letter were cursed, Draco checked it for a magical signature. "It's sealed, but that's all," he said, breaking the seal. As he'd expected, nothing happened.

"I thought you weren't able to receive the post," said Harry as Draco read. They were sitting around their campfire, just finished dinner, when Harry heard a noise and went to investigate. None of their alarms had tripped, and it had turned out to be a jet-black owl, carrying a missive for Draco.

The good mood Draco had been in seemed to disappear. He frowned and said absently. "I can get mail from the Grangers… and apparently…" He made a disgusted face and handed the letter to Harry, who took it with a questioning look. "Read it," said Draco, tossing his uneaten food in the fire.

Harry's frown grew as he read the letter. "Who is this _from_?"

Draco sighed. "Name's at the bottom."

"Pansy—_Pansy_?! What? You're… _marrying _her?"

"Um, no. But she and my mother would like to think so."

"Oh! I… what do you mean?"

Draco took a deep breath and said, "Well, about four months before I came to you, my parents asked me to be present for dinner one evening. I said I would be there. That evening, they proceeded to tell me it was time I thought about settling down. Getting married."

"What? That—that's _unbelievable_!"

"No kidding. I was quite stunned myself. I was nearly twenty though, and it was 'high time' I settled down. Of course, I'm thinking, there's a bloody _war _going on outside; hadn't they _noticed_? Just… the very idea was ridiculous. Get married… during a war?"

"And to _Pansy_?"

"Exactly! As I listened to them going on and on about what a good match it would be, I couldn't help but think. There I was, a pureblood, wealthy—"

"Prejudiced, Death Eater snob," Harry finished.

Draco gave him a look, then nodded. "Basically. You would think I would be allowed to _choose _whom I wanted to marry. Instead, they wanted me to marry another wealthy, pureblooded, prejudiced snob who happened to think they way they did. Never mind that I couldn't stand the witch, and they knew it. Wouldn't you think they'd want the _best _for me? Better than that, at least."

"So… they have arranged marriages in the wizarding world?"

"Yes, they do," he said with a sigh. "It's usually only done to ensure purity of bloodlines."

"Naturally."

"So therefore, it's usually only done in pureblooded families who are stuck in traditional ways."

"Like your family," said Harry.

"Yes, like my family. However, I have no desire to perpetuate the… prejudices of my family. Of course, I'd rather marry just about anyone other than Pansy. And blood… doesn't matter. If, someday, I should happen to… care about someone, I won't let blood—or anything, really—get in the way."

Harry looked at him strangely. "What about Hermione?"

"What about her?"

"Would you marry her?"

Draco's eyes widened. "What, you mean…theoretically?"

"Sure. Why not? Theoretically, would you marry Hermione?"

"I…I mean… I would prefer her to Pansy by far, so… were it a choice between the two, I would choose her…"

Harry grinned slightly and Draco shook his head. "Explain something to me, Potter. I really want to understand. I know where you're going with this. Why—and I've asked you this before—why do you want me for her? You're her friend, you're supposed to want the best for her. Just… please, explain it to me. I don't understand this insistence of yours."

Harry nodded. "Sure. Okay. Hermione is… a very unique, special woman. And you seem to know it. No one has ever truly appreciated her completely before, at least not that I've known." Harry paused. "Hermione has always been… my friend. And it never really hit me until she was with Ron that she deserved certain things.

"I'd always figured she should be with Ron because, well, he's my best mate, and he liked her. A lot. End of story. Until they got together. Then I really _saw _how they were together. He treated her exactly the same, as though they were still just friends. Sure, they kissed, and all that…"

Harry trailed off and grinned. "See? You can't even _hear _about her kissing someone else without scowling!"

"Kissing _Weasley_," said Draco firmly. "The very idea…" He shuddered.

"Uh-huh… Anyway, he treated her the same as always. Made jokes about her with me, made fun of her, didn't take what she said seriously, only half-listened to her ideas… yet he claimed he loved her. Before they were together, the stupid things Ron said seemed to roll off Hermione's back, but as the time passed, I could see that they hurt her, and deeply."

"Lousy git," Draco muttered, breaking a few twigs in half.

Harry shook his head. "I'm amazed they lasted as long as they did, and I suspect it was due largely to Hermione refusing to give up and Ron not knowing anything was wrong. It was then I realized that Hermione deserved more, more than what Ron had to offer. I'd thought he was perfect for her, but… it was obvious he wasn't.

"I know you and Hermione aren't exactly friends, but _you _treat her that way. I don't even know if you realize it. But you haven't once tried to crack a joke at her expense, you respect her, as you've said yourself, you listen to what she has to say and even though you may not agree or go with her ideas, you _listen_. You don't dismiss her.

"You treat her the way she deserves to be treated, and that also means standing up to her when she needs it. Ron and I… we don't." Harry chuckled. "That was a lot longer than I'd intended, but there's your answer."

Draco was frowning and staring ahead into the dark forest. After a few moments, he shook his head. "She deserves better."

"Better than the way you treat her?"

"Certainly. I'm not perfect, Potter. I've hurt her."

"Sure, that's true. But it _bothered _you when you did. Ron—and I'm sorry to continually compare you to him, but it's the best I've got—dismissed her when she was upset, too! Said she was being unreasonable; didn't let it get to him that he upset her. You truly care about her."

Draco couldn't deny that, no matter how much he wished he wanted to. But he'd cared about her long before he ever liked her, and it had helped him through the bad times, pulled him through the impossible times. He'd never stop caring for her, even if he never saw her again.

Harry sighed, frustrated. "Draco, why can't you fathom that _you _could _be_ that better she deserves? Is it that you don't _want _to be?"

Draco shook his head. "It's… she's… You're right, she deserves all of that, and more. It's the more I can't promise. And I don't want to talk about this anymore, Harry. You just keep pushing and I _know _already. I—I reckon I ought to be… flattered that you so obviously think I'm good enough for her, but…" He sighed. "I just don't think I am."

"Well, I think she should be allowed to decide that, don't you?"

Draco smirked. "Right. Like that's ever going to happen."

"At least you're not marrying Pansy, right?"

"Merlin, no. Not if she were the last witch on earth."

"That's another thing, you know. You won't settle—it's not like you. You'd rather be alone than with someone you didn't love. Which means—if you ever stop being such a little wuss about it—that if you were with Hermione, you would have to really _want _to be."

Draco sighed and thought long and hard. "Okay, Harry. I hear you. Okay? And… thanks, I guess. But we should rest—big day tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay. What should I do with this letter?"

"Burn it. We can't leave any trace we were here."

**ooo**

**A/N: **One more to go! Thanks for reading!


	7. Tower Over Me

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Not making any money, just having fun.

**Note**: I'm running out of ways to thank my beta, Eilonwy, for being awesome. Seriously! Chapter title comes from a song I've actually never _heard_, but I read the words. It's called "Father" by Yellowcard. I think it's probably pretty awesome.

**General Reminder**: These are deleted scenes from the story "We Learned the Sea." If you haven't read it, these won't make any sense. You can find that story under my profile page. Also, these scenes weren't actually deleted from the story; they're more like _extra_ scenes. Enjoy!

**ooo**

**Tower Over Me**

_Father I will always be  
That same boy that stood by the sea  
And watched you tower over me_

**ooo**

"M-Malfoy," came a startled voice.

Draco smirked. "Rogerson." They clasped hands, though Draco's companion appeared nervous.

"What brings you to Lancaster?"

"Business, of course," Draco replied, sounding bored. He glanced around the room taking in the dustiness, dinginess, and general disorder. "You received my message, did you not?"

The other man's eyes widened. "I, uh, er, well, no, I got no message from you."

Draco frowned. "Who was here two days ago?"

"S-Scott Blakeley."

Draco nodded. "The letter was due to arrive then. It would seem he did not pass its contents on to you."

Rogerson looked both relieved—the fault did not lie on his shoulders—and more concerned. There was no telling what Draco wanted.

"I am expecting my father here any day," Draco said, picking up a bottle of firewhiskey. "Have you heard from him?" It was generally frowned upon to drink while on duty for the Dark Lord and Draco saw Rogerson's eyes dart to the bottle.

"L-Lucius?" he stuttered.

Draco stared hard at the man. "Yes," he hissed, slamming the bottle back onto the table. "My _father_. Are you having difficulty hearing, Rogerson?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Well?"

"N-no, sir. Lucius was here just yesterday, but he's gone by now."

Draco huffed, annoyed. "Bugger. Where did he go?"

"I—I—I don't—"

"You _do _know, Rogerson," said Draco, dangerously calm. "And it would do you well to remember."

"I'm under strict orders not to reveal that—"

"And _I_," said Draco angrily, his eyes blazing, "am under _strict _orders to _find _him. Do you _question_ me?"

"No, not at all, sir, of course not. I—"

"Good. Now. Where did my father go?"

"I don't know—"

Draco growled and grabbed the man around the neck, throwing him against the wall.

"B-but he's due in Dorchester tomorrow," said Rogerson, trying to pry Draco's hands from around his neck.

"Where?"

"The usual place."

"The Stone Inn?" Draco spat, tightening the clamp around Rogerson's throat."

"Yes," he choked out.

"What room?"

"Forty-seven. Th-The usual wards and passcode."

Draco squeezed tighter, glaring daggers at the man for a few seconds before letting him go. Rogerson fell to the floor, whimpering and gasping deep breaths.

"Good. Your Master will be pleased."

Draco turned and swept toward the door.

"Wait," called Rogerson in a strained voice.

Draco stopped and spun around. "What?" he asked impatiently. "I haven't got all day."

"He's looking for you," said Rogerson, a dark gleam in his eye.

"Who?"

"Lucius. He's gone a bit mad, they say. Unstable. The talk is he wants you dead."

Draco paused and narrowed his eyes. "Who is talking?"

Rogerson stood and shrugged. "People talk, is all. I know you're one of the Dark Lord's favorites. If it was found out I had knowledge I didn't share, and you ended up dead, I'd be in a lot of trouble." Slowly a grin spread across his face.

Draco scowled. "Your loyalty appears…highly situational. I assure you, _he _will not be the one to kill me, and he _knows _it."

"But he's got more strength and skill than anyone I've ever seen! Save the Dark Lord, of course."

"My father's…predicament may provide him strength, but it cannot give him knowledge and skill he did not already possess. However, your concern for me will not be forgotten." With that Draco stormed out of the room.

He Apparated to the abandoned shack where he and Harry were staying.

"Well?" Harry asked, standing from the fire when Draco appeared.

Draco took off his outer robe and slung it over the back of a chair. "He's going to Dorchester. He'll be there tomorrow, at six in the evening."

Harry nodded. "So what now?"

"We go to Dorchester. Now."

**ooo**

They found a run-down Muggle place to stay for the night. Draco paid for the room without a word to Harry. They deposited their few belongings in the room and went to find food, stopping in a seedy diner. They'd eaten whatever they could find quickly on their journey, doing their best to eat a healthful meal in order to keep up their strength. On occasion, however, they'd had to settle for less than he would have liked. Draco decided he would never complain about Harry's cooking again, should the opportunity arise.

Draco led Harry to a dimly lit corner booth. Once they'd ordered, Harry could wait no longer.

"What did you find out?" he blurted out.

"I told you," Draco replied tersely.

"Well, then what else happened? Surely the conversation comprised more than exchanging that little information." He sipped his water. "Besides, you're awfully edgy."

Draco shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "It seems as though my _father _wants me dead. So while _we _are looking for _him_, he is looking for _me_. To kill _me. _The irony is simply delicious," he spat.

"Why does he want to kill you?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea. I think—Rogerson believed—he's slightly mad. No one truly knows the effects of a Horcrux being housed in a human being. Based on what happened with Ginny in second year—the diary changed its objective and went after you—it is reasonable to believe that the piece of the Dark Lord's soul residing within Lucius has affected him. _Changed _him.

"Lucius likely feels as though he _is _the Dark Lord, in part. And so he feels he can make his own rules, make his _own _demands. And if Lucius doubted me, even for an instant before taking on the Horcrux, then perhaps his paranoia was amplified and he now fully believes I have turned. If he has mistrusted me for months, as I now believe, the Horcrux likely intensified that distrust and emboldened him at the same time."

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe. It's all just speculation, isn't it. Though I do not doubt that he would attempt to kill me without permission from the Dark Lord."

Harry let out a sharp breath. "What do we do?"

Draco looked at him and frowned. "About what?"

"Well, how does this change things? How does this affect our plans?"

"It doesn't."

"But—he could _kill _you."

"He can _try_. But he knows I have the upper hand."

"Draco, he's got _Voldemort's_ soul in him."

"Yes, and as I told Rogerson, it doesn't automatically endow him with all of the Dark Lord's skills and knowledge. He will likely be stronger, but that is it. More reckless then usual, and therefore very likely more prone to mistakes as well. And I am still better than he is."

Harry shook his head. "If you're sure you want to continue…"

"Yes," Draco replied firmly. "Hurry and eat. We must rest; tomorrow is an important day."

"Yeah…about that," said Harry, avoiding looking at Draco. "Uhm…how is all that working? For you…" he trailed off as Draco's eyes became angry.

Draco said nothing, but he couldn't eat either. He stared at his plate, silently seething, not really knowing why he was so upset. He was being irrational, he knew, but…

"I mean, I just want to say…I know he's your dad and all, so…if you, you know, wanted to—"

Draco glared at Harry, and set his fork down hard on his plate. Then he looked for the waitress and signaled her over. "Here," he said, handing her a hundred-pound note. "Keep the change."

Her eyes widened, but she only nodded and left the table. Draco stood and left the diner, Harry hurrying after him.

When they arrived at the hotel, Draco said nothing, just stormed up the stairs toward their room. He slammed the door behind him and strode angrily into the room. Harry came in after him.

"Malfoy, will you wait a second?"

He glared at Harry, but said nothing.

"Draco – "

"What? What do you want?"

"I – well, if you want to talk about it…" Harry's voice trailed off at the look of violence in Draco's eyes.

"Do I have a bloody lion on my forehead or something? Something to make you think I'm one of you lot? I don't _talk_. I don't want to open up, tell you how I'm _feeling_." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "None of that rubbish. I – I want to be left alone."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You don't want to talk to me."

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and let his head drop into his hands. Harry stood awkwardly near the door still, looking at Draco's back.

"But would you talk to Hermione? If she were here?"

Draco turns around and gives him the look of death. "She… she's out of this time, she's… not here, she… no, I wouldn't talk to her." He paused. "I – I might. No. I wouldn't. I mean, what am I supposed to say?"

"He's your father."

"Yeah, I know. That's why you're _asking _me if I want to talk about it."

"It's not like he's some random person."

"I _know _what tomorrow is, Harry. I get it. But I don't need to talk, all right?" Draco said with extreme annoyance. He turned back around to face the wall, face away from Harry.

"You'd talk to her," Harry said.

"I don't know," Draco said. "It – it's not likely. She's in another world, she doesn't exist here. I have to _do _this, I can't think about her."

"I understand that."

"So it's pointless to ask if I would talk to her. I haven't ever before, even though she's offered. I could, I know I could. I might, I don't know. Okay? I…"

"Do you love her?"

He paused a long time before answering. "Ask me tomorrow."

**ooo**

Draco's eyes popped open and focused on what was directly in front of them: the ceiling. It was off-white, dirty, and it looked as though there had been some water damage above his bed. It took him a brief moment to remember where he was.

_Dorchester_.

He shut his eyes tight and rubbed them, pushing them until it was almost painful and he saw nothing but bright flashes of color.

Today they would try and kill Lucius. His father. Draco knew it had to be done; they'd confirmed that he was indeed the Horcrux a few days ago, but… It didn't make it easy. It was…complicated.

Draco had never had a good relationship with his father. He'd once believed the man perfect, incapable of error, as most young boys think of their fathers. His father had demanded perfection from Draco, which he'd always tried his best to give.

He got the highest scores he possibly could, studying late into the night when his roommates thought he was asleep—he had a certain _image _to uphold as well. Hermione always bested him, except in Potions, but Draco knew that Snape had been terribly unfair in the class. Had things been truly equal, she likely would have scored higher than he in that class as well.

He'd joined the Quidditch team because his father thought 'a healthy dose of competition' would be good for him. He bought into his father's lies because he knew it was the easiest way. It took Draco a long time and a lot of pain to reach a point where he felt he could stand up for himself and when he finally had, Lucius had backpedaled so fast Draco almost laughed out loud. Lucius truly had never stood on his own either, Draco realized, and when he finally told his father he didn't need him, Lucius wasn't sure how to take it. So he'd sneered, and berated Draco, and tried to make him feel worthless again. But Draco had caught on to his act and refused to let Lucius' tactics work ever again.

Steve had told him that sometimes courage meant standing and fighting in a huge army, and that sometimes it meant standing and fighting alone. Draco had always felt very alone, but after meeting the Grangers, he felt as though a hole inside of him had been filled. The past two years had been the hardest yet most rewarding years of his life—he'd gained a true family. And Lucius barely noticed that his son was different.

Once, near the beginning, he'd seemed to notice a change.

"Draco," he'd said one evening after dinner.

"Yes, Father?"

"Our Master seems to believe you have been working to improve yourself as of late."

Draco merely nodded. "Is there something wrong with working to make myself more useful to my Lord?"

Lucius' lip curled. "Of course not," he said, his voice dripping with acid. "You've just never shown any interest in being anything but a bottom feeder before."

"I suppose you could say I have now fully embraced my choice. I'm no longer here because I am your son—I am here because _I _choose this. This is _my _life."

Lucius had said no more, and the meal resumed in silence.

The next day Draco had been promoted into the same rank as his father. Lucius always looked at him with suspicion from that moment on.

Narcissa had told him that Lucius was jealous, insecure. He was older and slower, and he knew it, though he would _never _admit it. Draco had the ability and the intelligence to surpass him one day, and Lucius feared that day would come soon.

Five months later, Lucius once again interrupted the silence at dinner. All through the meal, Draco had watched his father silently work himself into a rage and he'd made bets with himself on how long it would take for him to explode. He was so angry he was almost spitting his words, his face red and the veins on his neck throbbing.

"So," he snarled, setting his silverware on his plate loudly.

Narcissa calmly set hers down as well and folded her hands in her lap.

Draco continued eating and quirked an eyebrow.

"So," Lucius repeated, angrier and louder.

Draco sighed and dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "Was there something you wanted, Father?"

"If you were close enough, I would smack you for being so insolent!" Lucius hissed.

Draco leaned back in his chair and said nothing.

"So. The Dark Lord thinks _you _are the future. That _you _are worthy to be his second."

Draco merely shrugged and took a sip of his wine.

Lucius banged the table with his fist. "He is _wrong!_"

Draco looked at him then, piercingly. "I shall pass along your…opinion…to him first thing, Father."

Lucius stood and Narcissa let out a squeak. "You are a _boy_. _I _have been in his service for most of my life. _I _deserve that position more than you _ever _will."

Draco glanced at his mother who was staring straight ahead of her at the wall. "Apparently, the Dark Lord disagrees."

Lucius drew his wand.

"No!" cried Narcissa, now standing herself. She went to Lucius. "Please, don't do this. He's your _son_!"

"Perhaps you should remind _him _of that, Narcissa. He needs to learn to respect his superiors; he _needs _to be reminded of his place."

Draco slowly stood, feeling as though he had been moving toward this moment all of his life. He thought of Hermione—the last time he'd seen her, she'd been arranging a bouquet of brightly colored flowers from Harry in her flat. He thought of Steve and Jane—the three of them were supposed to install the hammock that weekend. And he was supposed to be watching over their daughter. He could _not _do something stupid.

Still, this moment had been long in coming, and despite his promise, despite all of his best intentions, this _had _to be done. And Draco was fairly certain he would come out the victor.

"Draco, sit down," said Narcissa firmly, eyes blazing.

"The usual rules?" Draco said.

Lucius sneered. "Of course. Only…I won't _kill _you."

"Likewise," Draco replied. Lucius swept from the room and Draco made to follow, but his mother stopped him.

"Draco, do _not _do this."

"Why not, Mother?" he asked, frustrated. "_He _is the one who needs to _know _who's better. Not me."

"Son—"

Draco scowled. "I won't hurt him," he said, and left the room without waiting for a response.

After it was over, Lucius grew more and more distant from his family. He tried to study too, to learn what Draco had learned, so he could _defeat _him.

Meals were long, silent staring contests; Draco never saw his father outside of Death Eater meetings. The tension at home became more than Draco felt he should have to bear, and he moved out, to Narcissa's dismay.

"But where will you go? Whatever will you do?" she'd asked him.

"I'll manage," he'd said. She had no idea that he'd been practically living at his small house at the Edge for over eight months; he only came around the Manor for meals because it meant something to her. And so without a word to his father, he completely moved into the house he'd build near the edge of a cliff.

Draco sighed and rolled onto his side. The wallpaper was peeling along the edges, revealing yellowed walls.

He wouldn't _miss _his father, but he still had a hard time knowing he would be responsible in some part for his death. Whatever Lucius had been, whatever their relationship, he was still his father, the man who had given him life, taught him to ride a broom, gave him his first wand. Those were the few truly _good _memories of his father he had. He'd also taught him about blood, and fear, and hate, and had spent far more time and energy on instilling in Draco the need for power and never letting someone control him.

A strong desire to see Hermione flooded through him and he tried to picture her in his mind. An image materialized of her sitting on the porch swing with Harry, laughing and talking.

_She _was what kept him going in the moments he thought about giving up. _She _would never understand why he didn't do everything possible to complete his mission, to rid the world of the most evil creature in recent memory. The thought of telling her, of seeing her face, so precious to him, when he told her he'd failed was what he drew on when he was at his breaking point.

He wanted to be strong for her. He'd come so far since the beginning, but in the end, it had become really hard. He'd been tempted in his moments closest to despair to simply take her away and hide with her, to keep her safe forever. But he knew she'd _never _forgive him for it.

Today—_today—_his father would die. And Draco missed Hermione more than he _ever _had at that moment. He wanted to envelop her, to wrap himself up in her, to get lost in her.

Harry stirred and, not ready to deal with the world, Draco got up and went for a shower. The hot water felt good on his tight muscles; he'd been in a constant state of tension for nearly three days straight.

When he got out, Harry was looking at a drawing of the layout of the Stone Inn.

"Room forty-seven, you said?" Harry asked, not looking up.

Good, Draco thought. Harry wasn't going to try to make him _talk._

"Yes."

"What is the usual protocol for these meetings?"

Draco joined Harry at the table. "Room forty-seven is a suite. There is an outer room and a bedroom with an office in it. Lucius will likely take one person into the actual meeting room with him. He's been keeping a steady contingent of three to four Death Eaters with him. That means two or three will be in the room just outside of the bedroom."

"Right. Those are for me."

Draco nodded. "We'll go over there now. The man my father is meeting should already be in his room. We'll get the information we need about the meeting, and adjust our plans accordingly."

**ooo**

Room forty-seven was indeed occupied. Draco knocked and after exchanging the passcodes, the door opened.

It was Blaise Zabini. Draco blinked but made no further reaction.

"Draco!" Blaise said, grinning brightly.

"Blaise," he returned flatly. He sighed heavily.

"What brings you to the Stone Inn?" Blaise asked. Draco noticed that the other man wasn't opening the door for him.

"Business, of course," he replied. "May I?"

"Oh, well, actually Draco, this isn't a good time."

Draco smirked and made to peek around Blaise. Then he leaned in to whisper. "Have you got, uh, company?"

Blaise reddened.

"Because you _know _how the Dark Lord feels about using _his _time for…_other _pursuits."

Blaise quickly shook his head and opened wide the door. "No, of course not. I—I'm just…getting ready for something."

Draco walked into the room and glanced around. "Are you alone?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Blaise, settling into a large chair. "I've got a meeting tonight."

"That's too bad," said Draco. He turned to one side and quickly drew his wand. "_Stupefy!_" Blaise slumped over in the chair.

Draco went to the door and sent out a few green sparks. Harry appeared a moment later and Draco let him into the room.

Without a word, they went to the chair where Blaise sat. Harry pulled a vial of colorless liquid from his robes while Draco moved Blaise and tilted his head back, opening his mouth. Harry then took a few drops and placed them on Blaise's tongue, and stowed the bottle back in his robe.

"Ready?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "_Ennervate_."

Blaise's eyes popped open, but they were hazy; a side effect of the Truth serum.

"What is your name?" Draco asked. Harry settled onto the sofa.

"Blaise Zabini."

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for a meet."

"When is the meet to take place?"

"Tonight. Five o'clock."

Draco looked at Harry, whose eyes had gone wide. Roberson had told them six. "Whom are you meeting?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

"Where are the details of the meeting?"

"In the desk in the bedroom, top drawer on the right, behind a false drawer back."

Harry stood and went to retrieve the papers.

"What is the meeting about?" Draco continued.

"Lucius is looking for someone. He believes he has found him finally and is seeking for people to help him kill the man."

"Who?"

"His son."

Draco's breath hitched and his heart started pounding. What did it mean? Was it _possible _his father had found him? _How_? Draco broke into a sweat. Was Hermione in danger?

Harry returned then, carrying a few sheets of parchment. "It's all in code, of course," he said, sifting through the pages as he walked further into the room. When Draco made no response, he looked up. "Um, Draco? You okay? You're looking significantly paler than usual, which is saying something."

Draco glared at Harry briefly then turned back to Blaise. "Where does Lucius think his son is?"

"He believes he's tracked him to a safehouse in Glasgow."

Draco shut his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at Harry. "Lucius thinks he's found me."

"Oh."

"Zabini. Is there anything besides what is in the papers that pertains to the meeting later today?"

"Lucius is bringing his closest advisor."

"And…who is that?" Draco asked.

"Crabbe."

Draco chuckled. It must have been a sign of his father's increasing retreat from sanity that made him select Crabbe as an advisor.

"Why does Lucius want Draco dead?" Harry asked.

"He thinks he's a traitor to the Dark Lord."

"What evidence does he have against his son?" Harry continued, despite Draco's questioning looks.

"Nothing specific, just a feeling. And he believes he'd been Obliviated; he's had a few flashes of a night he cannot remember."

Draco peered into Zabini's eyes—they were still glassy, still unfocused. "When did he start having these…flashes?" Draco asked.

"I don't know."

Draco nodded and looked at Harry. "Probably after being inhabited by the Dark Lord's soul. It is simply not possible my Obliviation spell failed."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, handing Draco the parchments.

He accepted them. "Yes. If he'd had these flashes earlier, he would have gone to the Dark Lord straightaway. The Horcrux has…affected him, in more ways than one. He's more arrogant, more foolhardy. He's decided to take this matter—me—into his own hands. Because it's personal. Before, he never would have acted with the Dark Lord's consent."

Draco muttered a password and words began to appear on the parchment. He read through them and handed them off to Harry when he finished.

"Now it would seem we wait."

**ooo**

At quarter to four, Draco and Harry moved Blaise into the bedroom and put him in the bathroom. Then Harry left the hotel room completely; he would come in behind the Death Eaters and wait until Lucius and his advisor went into the second room.

Draco waited, alternating between fear, resignation, and anxiety for the entire hour until five approached. At ten to five, he went through a mental check of all the things that might go wrong. He'd cast a spell strong enough to stun all five of the people expected, just in case Lucius brings them all in with him. Then he would revive his father and have a little chat while they waited for Harry.

With three minutes remaining until five, Draco heard the outer door open and people filed into the room. He counted a total of six, his father and Crabbe Senior included. With the aid of an Extendable Ear, he listened as orders were barked; Lucius and Crabbe would speak with Zabini, the others would remain in the sitting room.

A moment later there was a knock.

"Enter," said Draco, feeling his stomach churning. He was tucked in a corner of the room so as not to be seen immediately by those who entered; he had a full view of the door.

Lucius entered first, followed by Crabbe. Lucius looked around the room.

"Zabini," he called, while Crabbe closed the door.

"_Stupefy,_" Draco whispered. Crabbe and Lucius started to fall, but Draco stopped them so as not to alarm those in the other room. Gently he lowered them to the floor and then moved Crabbe into the bathroom with Zabini, removing his wand.

When he had finished he went to retrieve his father's wand, only to find Lucius stirring. Draco muttered a quick Disarming spell and Lucius' wand flew into his hand.

Draco approached his father, wand drawn.

Without opening his eyes, Lucius slowly smiled. "Draco, Draco," he said in a superior tone. "I might have guessed I'd find you here." Quick as a flash, Lucius rolled away and stood up, glaring at Draco.

"Hello, Father."

Lucius checked his pockets and found his wand missing. "So. Here we are at last."

"I heard you're trying to kill me."

Lucius shrugged. "I may be, I may _not _be…"

"When will you learn, _Father_, that I am—"

"_Better _than I? Is that what you would say?" Lucius laughed maniacally. It scared Draco slightly. "Oh, son! At one time, that may have been true, but now…_now _I am so much more than you."

"I know exactly what you are," Draco said evenly.

Lucius quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so? Tell me how you think this is going to go, Draco. _Who _do you believe will walk out of this room alive?"

He was trying to bait him and Draco knew it. "Anything you'd like me to tell Mother?"

Lucius laughed again. "You're going to _kill _me? _You_? You don't have it in you, _boy_. You are so weak. You've got everyone fooled, even the Dark Lord, but _I _know the truth. I know you're pathetic, and insignificant, and _weak_."

"I'm stronger than you," Draco said, annoyed that he was letting himself get angry. "Do I need to prove it _again_?"

That seemed to be exactly what Lucius wanted. His eyes flashed and he sneered. "I would like nothing more."

Draco refused to let his father get to him. He forced himself to think about Hermione.

"Tell me, son. Whom are you working for? Surely not the Ministry; my guess is you've gone rogue. You still pretend to work for your Master, but you've got something going on the side."

There was no point, really, in _not _telling the truth. Part of Draco wanted to tell his father everything, tell him that he knew all about his role in the Dark Lord's plans, that he was smarter than all of them. He wanted Lucius to _know _just what his son had done, what he would do, to bring down the Dark Lord.

But such thoughts were counter-productive. He needed to stay focused, something he'd always had trouble with where his father was concerned. Where _was_ Harry, anyway?

Draco approached Lucius, wand still trained on him. "Guess what, Father? I'm _not _going to kill you."

Lucius smirked. "Oh? What, pray tell, do you have in mind then?"

"Oh, you're going to die today. Just not by my hand."

Lucius laughed again. "You're such a bloody _coward_,Draco. Ever since the beginning. You were never truly cut out for this life."

"And yet _you _wanted me here more than anything," Draco hissed. "_You _bred me for this, conditioned me for this life. When I fail, you call me a coward. When I prove to be better than you, you resent me and plot to kill me. It's a no-win; how could I _ever _have hoped to please you?"

"You should have pleased yourself," Lucius snarled.

"Selfish to the end, aren't you?" Draco said, the anger dissipated. His father, this _man_, was truly someone he'd never known. Their characters had diverged long ago, the similarities ending. At the same age, they'd both been given a choice. Lucius chose the Dark side, and embraced it with all he had. Draco had reluctantly taken the only way out that he saw, which happened to be the same side as his father. Only while Lucius thrived, learning Dark magic, hurting, torturing, killing people, it had had the opposite affect on Draco.

"I want _you _to kill me," Lucius said, his eyes blazing. "I want you to have to live with what you've done for the rest of your life."

Draco shook his head. "No. I promised her. I have done enough already to haunt me the rest of my life. I don't need to add your blood to my hands."

His father narrowed his eyes. "You promised _her_? Who, Draco? Your mother? If I find out she has betrayed me…"

"No, not Mother." Draco chuckled, amused at his train of thought. "Guess what, Father. I'm in love."

Lucius eyes widened and Draco relished in knowing he'd taken his father by surprise. Then his eyes narrowed even further. "Who—or should I say _what_—would ever have _you_?"

"Hermione Granger, actually. You remember her, right Father?"

Lucius was livid. "That—that _Mud—_"

"No!" Draco yelled. "You will _not _call her that."

"Mudblood!" Lucius screamed. Draco heard sounds coming from the outer room and could only hope it was Harry. He kept his wand pointed at Lucius' heart.

"I love her, Father. I only wish you were going to be around to see it."

He clenched his jaw. "No. You will _not_…_ever_…be with a Mudblood."

"There's nothing you can do about it." Someone pounded on the door.

"Get in here, you fools!" shouted Lucius.

The door opened and Draco risked a glance—it was Harry.

Lucius' eyes widened. "P-Potter?"

Draco grinned. "Good of you to join us, Harry."

"Sorry, got caught up out there."

Lucius looked between them and then finally—_finally_—looked shaken. He stared at Draco. "You—you went to the _Order_?" he asked, incredulous. Apparently the idea that Draco had completely turned had never occurred to him.

"No. Just Potter."

Lucius didn't remain flustered for long. He sneered. "So. _Potter _is going to do your dirty work now? Really, son. I expected…_better_ from you."

"Merlin, he's annoying," said Harry. "Shall we get this over with then?"

"I—" started Lucius.

"Sounds good to me," said Draco. "Seriously, Father. Anything you wish to say to Mum?"

"This isn't over, Draco."

"That's true. It is over for you, however."

"You know, Draco. I've never done this before."

"That's true," he replied. "Think you can handle it?"

"I dunno. Any pointers?"

"You're got to really want it."

Harry chuckled. "Yes, I think we've covered that part." He turned to Lucius. "Not kidding. Last change for last words." Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at the man.

Lucius was afraid then and Draco felt sad and triumphant at the same time. It was a sick kind of triumph—that Lucius was afraid to die, where Draco had never really been. He didn't _want _to die, but every time he'd faced another wandpoint, every time he thought he'd finally been caught by the Ministry, he'd never been _afraid_. Regretful, yes; scared, no.

Lucius looked at his son. "Draco. We can talk about this. I—I'm sorry I wanted to kill you. I—"

"Save it," said Draco. And the moment had finally come. Dread rushed through him and he felt slightly weak. He'd seen people killed countless times, but seeing his own father—no matter their history, no matter the angry feelings between them—it was going to hurt, he knew it. He could tell.

And he was angry. "_What _do you want me to tell _Mum_?" he spat, eyes narrowed.

Lucius seemed to consider the question for a moment. "Tell her…tell her we failed. That her son was useless after all. That he didn't appreciate the things we did for him, the things we gave him. He is ungrateful, spiteful, and arrogant." He looked into Draco's eyes. "You have always been her greatest source of pain."

Draco said nothing. He knew it wasn't true, he _knew _it wasn't _true. _It _couldn't _be. He was just trying to hurt him any way he could. Casting one final glare at his father, Draco stormed from the room.

He slammed the door behind him and immediately crumpled to the ground in a heap. Leaning his head against the door, he listened. There was movement, and Lucius pleading with Harry.

After only a few moments that stretched for eternity in Draco's mind, he heard Harry mutter "Aveda Kedavra." Softly, too softly to be effective, Draco thought. His mind screamed. _No, Harry, you've messed it up, you have to really _mean _it!_

The door opened and Draco had to catch himself to keep from falling into the room.

"It's done," said Harry quietly.

Draco stood, feeling as though at any moment he would collapse, his knees too weak to support him, and cautiously entered the room. Lucius was dead.

Draco shut his eyes tight and squeezed until he saw stars. When he opened them, his father was still dead. He fell to his knees, tears welling in his eyes. He _refused _to cry over his father! He had told himself over and over he would never cry on account of him, but there it was. There _they _were, hot tears of regret and relief.

Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Let's go, mate. We've got work to do."

Draco stood in a daze. He and Harry had agreed to make it appear as though the Order had raided and taken Lucius prisoner. The other Death Eaters would be Obliviated and their memories modified; they would remember Lucius going into the second room, but nothing beyond that. Crabbe wouldn't remember Draco.

Harry would leave behind a message from the Order regarding Lucius. It was very important that the Dark Lord believe Lucius still alive, or he might create a new Horcrux before Harry and Draco could get to him.

Draco didn't realize he'd been staring at nothing, completely zoned out, until Harry called his name.

"Malfoy! Hey, I need your help. Hold together just a bit longer."

Draco shook his head. "Sorry."

They set about their task, each working silently and efficiently. As he worked, Draco's head cleared. He _knew _that Lucius had had to die, he'd known it for weeks. He'd told himself from the very beginning that his father's death was a possibility.

He missed Hermione, he realized suddenly. The hardest part of the mission was over for him, emotionally, at least. All that remained was the physical act of finding the Dark Lord and getting Harry in front of him. Part of him wanted to collapse into Hermione's strength, to let her hold him up for even just a moment. He'd never wanted to lean on her before, thinking he would crush her, but right then, he knew he needed her.

He would keep going, of that there was no doubt. But he relished seeing her again. As the weeks passed since she had confronted him and then kissed him, his desire to return to her had grown enormously.

Harry came out of the other room. "All done," he said.

Draco nodded. "Me too."

Their eyes met. "Let's go."

**ooo**

**A/N:** Well, that's all of them! I truly hoped you liked them, that they added something to the story. Background. Insight. _Something_. A few of the scenes were challenging to write – this one and the Office scene – but I'm glad I did.

Thank you, again, for all the wonderful reviews and comments about We Learned the Sea. It's been an amazing ride, and I'm sad to see it end. But at the same time, I'm excited about moving on to other things. In the Harry Potter fanfiction world, I mean. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon – for good or ill!

I am truly thankful to those who've taken the time to review. Before I started posting, I didn't fully understand and appreciate the value of reviewing. I most certainly do now! With that, I bid you all happy reading!


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